Widow's Torment Revisited
by Iresol
Summary: This is a fic writted by a gal by the name of TamLin. We're unsure of where it will go, but, I loved it and had to publish it. It follows the same plot of the other one, but is SO much better! Written by TamLin, I just proof read the update.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: Hi! I had a lovely lady by the penname of TamLin write these following chapters which I just fell in love with! All credit goes to her for the writing, I just edited. It's a recap of the fic, but she did such a phenominal job I had to post it! Any reviews your guys and gals write will be forwarded! Enjoy!_

"Aeneas wants us to move." I picked absently at the weft of my dress, long fingers distracted as I sat on the uneven floor of the cave. The cold had seeped up through the rock in the dim, cool interior, so far from the sun and I was cold.

But - I was always cold these days. More stone than flesh…

"Every spring he starts this" I continued. Fingers pick-pick-picking. I shook my head, or at least started to but this was an old conversation and I didn't finish the move. "He wants us to be a nation again. A people our children can be proud of. He wants us to have high walls and storied buildings and gardens that grow more than food. I told him no last year. You remember that. We were so small and so lost and broken. We weren't strong enough to leave what little we still had and chase dreams."

There was a long pause in the waiting stillness and I finally confessed: "I don't believe in dreams anymore."

The smile was bitter, wry and I didn't apologize.

Not to him. Instead, after a minute, I picked up my thread of thought again and continued. "But this year he's not the only one that's restless. And I'm - I'm afraid that if we don't do something soon, we'll become nobodies." I raised my eyes from my busy hands in the fabric across my leg. "I don't want your son to grow up not knowing who he is. What he is." My voice almost broke and so I simply lowered it to a whisper. "You were always so proud of your people. Your country. I don't want him to forget." I pressed my lips together and waited for that impossible pressure in my chest to ease. Just a bit. Than I swallowed and blinked at the tears that hadn't fallen, just clouded my vision. "I want him to be proud too."

It hurt. It hurt so badly. I was trying to do what I thought he would want. Trying to raise our son the way I should. But - it was so hard to do it alone. I rested my head against the smooth surface of the large urn in front of me with its painted scenes of battle and glory. It was so hard to do this alone.

I had come to my husband when I was only fourteen. Still so young and so used to being surrounded by my family and their protection and guidance. And despite his many absences and the way I'd grown to handle things for myself as the years went on, I'd always known that he'd be back. Eventually. That, at the end, I would be by his side again and I could lay down the burden of ruling. Even a princess rules over people and places. How much more so the Crown Princess of mighty Troy? Especially after Hecuba had died and I had taken her place as the most powerful female amoung the ruling class. I had been good at it. I hadn't enjoyed it. But I had known my duty and I had been capable. It had been bearable. Because of my husband. My Hector.

Because I always knew he would be home soon…

I shut my eyes.

"Two years" I whispered it against the hard surface of the pottery. "Two years without you. I don't know how I've made it this far. I don't know how I'm supposed to make it any farther." I wrapped my arms around the urn and rested my cheek against its cold, unyielding surface. As close as I ever found myself to being in his arms now. My husband. My love and my friend and my champion. Two years dead, his city fallen and burned by enemy hands, his wife and child, his people, hiding in the mountains like wild animals. My heart was with him, in that urn. Burned to ashes along with his body and bones. I should have died when he did. I would have died. But -

But for our son. Our beautiful, laughing Astyanax. My bright little boy…

The only reason I rose in the morning.

But today was mine. Ours. Today was the day my world had ended. Two years ago. Today. When that beast had taken my life and the light of the world from me. When he had dragged all that was good and noble in this world through the dirt with his little pig face so small and so set. Today my people left me alone and Astyanax stayed with his aunt. Today was my day - and Hector's day. And the world left us alone.

Last year I had spent all day in this cave. Curled around his urn. Weeping and sleeping. A sad, pathetic example but it had been all right. Only my dead husband had seen. And he loved me for all of me. Even my weaknesses.

Today - I still cried. But than I brushed my cheeks dry with the backs of my hands and gave his urn - all that I had left of him - a weak smile. I still didn't know what to do about Aeneas. He had good points. But he was young and rash and thought things would be easier than they were too. I would have to make a decision soon. My people looked to me now as much as Paris. Maybe more. For my son, not my little brother in law, was the ruler of Troy now. For all he didn't know it yet.

I brushed absently at the damp pottery. The way I would brush uselessly at my tears when they had wet my husband's tunic.

"It's all right" I told him. Playing both the role of the lost one and the soother. There was no one else to anymore. "I'll be all right. For our son. Because you always thought I was stronger than I am." The vase received another weak smile. "I just miss you. There isn't a moment I don't still miss you."

The sun was still in the sky when I carefully left the small, hidden cave. I would not risk my husband's ashes. I could not bear to lose that last part of him. The main Greek host was long gone. Their damage done. Our city burned to the ground. My heart murdered and desecrated. Our people driven into hiding. But there was a Greek settlement where our city had once stood now. To keep us from going back and rebuilding. So that Troy would never again be a threat to the Achaian powers. And there was troops stationed in the Greek settlement. They hunted us still. Not content to leave a single Trojan alive and capable of thinking thoughts that were not bound to the house of Atreus.

I knew what they would do if they found my husband's ashes. And I would rather they found me than take that last piece of him away.

The pastures we kept our horses in were nearby and I walked that way automatically. I had always found Hector's great war horses intimidating. But they were a part of him. Sometimes I think they still missed him too. And so we were together in that at least. I took off my sandals as I walked. Perhaps not the wisest of things but if I watched where I stepped I would be all right. The sun-warmed grass under my feet felt good and reminded me of when I had still been a child. Astyanax took after me in that. You couldn't keep sandals on his feet for more than a handful of minutes no matter what you tried. He was always bolting off, chubby legs already growing long, bare feet gleefully slapping away at whatever surface he was escaping over. The thought made me smile as I walked, my thoughts turned inward and so I missed the way the horses were acting strangely.

It was foolish. In my world, now, there was no one left to save me. I should have always been aware of my surroundings. I was prey, not protected. But - so often I thought if I were caught, and fought hard enough, maybe they would end this for me. Kill me. And than it would hardly be my fault if my son was left an orphan.

They were a coward's thoughts. Weak thoughts. And not worthy of my son or the trust my husband had always placed in me. But - sometimes - I was weak. And a coward. And I didn't pay attention.

So it wasn't until I heard the moan that I realized I wasn't alone in the pastures. Or that the horses had all gravitated with curiosity toward the lower field. But once I was looking I could see there was a man lying on his face in the grass down there and my heart skipped unsteadily. I didn't know why. I honestly didn't give it thought. Someone must have fallen from one of the horses and they were hurt and so I dropped my sandals and picked up the fabric of my dress and I ran down to where they were.

Sometimes, as a woman, you become a mother first in your thoughts and notice everything else later. I knew he was hurt from the awkward way his large body was cast on the grass and I thought, if he was not even moving, that perhaps it was very bad. He'd hit his head on a stone or the horse he'd fallen from had accidentally clipped him with the side of its hoof perhaps. We had so little you could do for a man when his head had been cracked. Even less now that we were so far from our temples of Apollo and that god's healing priests had all been killed anyway. We had never tried to replace them. The sun god had loved a place. Not a people. And even than he had let his holy city fall to barbarians.

His brightest warrior fall to them…

Unless one of our young girls caught his eye, I thought bitterly, Apollo surely didn't care for us anymore.

And than I was kneeling next to the fallen man and rolling him over and I saw that at least one of the gods did care. Because they were laughing at me.

The man on the ground in front of me made a noise when I moved him. One of those familiar bitten back noises of discomfort more than true pain. Drunks made noises like that the morning after. But I barely heard it. Because…

Oh gods…

Because he was Hector.

He wasn't Hector. I knew that even before I'd moved him. He was leaner than my Hector. His hair too close too short to curl in unruly, forgotten waves. He was missing the familiar little scar near his eyebrow. Across his nose. His face was shaven. And yet…

And yet…

It was Hector's face. I would know those cheekbones from the thousand kisses I had sprinkled across them in our years together. That nose, so masculine and somehow proud and rough. The low, dark brows over the shut eyes rimmed in dark lashes. Those lips - how many times had those lips touched me - touched my skin. I knew the brush of that lower lip all the way to the core of my bones…

Without his hair to hide it, his odd right ear stood out, to my eyes, even more. And as my eyes swept the rest of his body, throat, chest, impossibly long legs clad in some kind of leggings… I knew that body. Leaner than I remembered. Missing scars where I remembered them that I could see. But I remembered that body with such a punch of sensation that my body actually felt the blow land against my heart and the air flew out of me with a quiet sound.

And than, unmerciful gods, his eyes opened. And I saw all of my husband and nothing of him in those familiar, impossible dark depths.

He said something. I'm sure of it. But I didn't hear it. Because, for the first time since my son's birth, I was screaming. I had not even screamed when my husband had fallen in front of my eyes on the battlefield. But I screamed now. Hand over my mouth, scuttling backward like a child facing the nightmare her parents had sworn wasn't true - I screamed.

And than I ran.

Andromache. Wife of the great Hector, tamer of horses. Queen of all that was left of Troy. Steady pillar of stoic support and decisions for a wandering lost people. And I fled as if Hades had set his very hound on my heels with orders to drag me, mangled, back to Tartarus.

I have never known such terror. I have never run mindless before. But I did than.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

Hector was forever teasing me about my busy mind. He teased but I knew he was proud to have a wife that paid attention. That thought for herself. That had a sense of what the world was and the foresight to look ahead into it. I have never been beautiful and I have never been talented but I have always been intelligent. Beauty or talent would have been easier to deal with as a woman. But I was left relying on my mind. And so, even as I reached the small 'village' our people had settled into, my mind was already trying to make sense of what I had stumbled into in that meadow.

The gods played tricks. All the time. It was how they amused themselves with mortals' pitiful lives and emotions as nothing more than game pieces. I knew. They'd done it to the man I loved. They might one day try to do it to my son. I had never thought they cared at all enough to play with what little was left of me. I was no hero. No innocent virgin. Why were they playing with me?

I scooped my son up in my arms from where he was playing with his carved lion on the packed dirt floor of my cousin's hut. Holding him so tightly that he should have protested. But he has always been such an empathic child. And even though his eyes were huge in his face, he was silent as I held him against me. I could see in my mind's eye that creature in the horse pasture and I knew instinctively that he had been sent. All that was inside me cried at me to take my boy and run. Run far and fast and never let whatever the gods were trying to do happen. No good ever came of the gods paying attention to you and the thought of the horrible, horrible things that happened even to their 'favorites' was almost enough to drive me into a panic again. Not for myself.

But for my innocent son.

"Andromache!" Briseis had dropped what she had been doing when I'd rushed in and her face was pale. It was always pale, these days, but at the moment, even for her, it was pale.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she was already throwing together what little she considered precious or needful. We were so very good at fleeing now. "Is it the Greeks? Have they found us?"

Love she might have found, somehow, for one of the barbarians that had invaded our shore. But she had never forgotten what they were as a mass. And what they did when they were so.

Her own panic calmed me somehow. As if, in thinking of someone else, I had to concentrate past my own animal instinct.

"No. No" I said. Pressing a kiss to the top of my son's head. "No. I - " I shook my head. 'I've seen my dead husband and it was not him'? What was I supposed to say? My tiny son's arms wound around my neck and it calmed me. Astyanax was still here. Safe in my arms. Whatever was beyond that wasn't as important as that one, simple fact. I rested my cheek against the top of his soft hair and inhaled.

"I've seen - something, Briseis."

She was the only one I could expect to understand. If it were possible to understand. She had loved a brute, a beast, but she had loved him all the same. And she had mourned him as I had mourned my own husband. Together we grieved and I could not hate her or hold against her that she mourned the enemy. Our pain had been more important and deep than that. She was watching me now with her hands still over the small pile she'd been collecting. Dark eyes watchful. Hearing so much more than my words in my few words.

"Should I call Paris?" she asked. Paris - as close as to a protector as the women of this family had anymore. He was sweet and guilty and fierce and confused and trying so hard to be what he'd never expected to have to be. It was unfair to ask anyone to try to take Hector's place but it was what his people asked of him. I shook my head.

"No" I resisted the idea of bringing Paris into it immediately and instinctively. I tried not to burden him with anything. But more - I couldn't bear the thought of watching his face if what was in the horse pasture was still in the horse pasture. "No" I answered again. Steadier this time. "But - I want you to come, Briseis. I want you to see. If its still there - I want you to tell me if I'm going mad."

Her eyebrows rose at the last statement. I hadn't meant to be over dramatic but - it was the only reasonable solution. That, so much time spent loving a shade, I had finally begun seeing it. A broken, confused version of what I had loved in life.

"Andromache" she started to protest it and than stopped herself. I watched her become the priestess she was not anymore. Setting aside 'self' to deal with the situation. She hadn't used to be able to do that. Before. "All right" she answered. "I will go with you."

It helped.

It was silly.

I was a grown woman and supposed to be able to stand on my own. Everyone relied on me to stand on my own - and to hold them up as well. But - I was glad she would come with me. Because I had to go back.

I left Astyanax with Padme. Pressed kisses to his cheeks and promised I would be back. And he looked at me with his dark eyes, his father's eyes, and I wondered if he, like me, wondered if I lied.

And than Briseis and I went back to the horse pasture.

We heard the swearing before we exactly reached the lower field. It wasn't loud or angry. It was more a steady, calm litany of words that implied everything foul and foolish in the world. Spoken less to burn the skin from someone and more because there were no other words with which to properly deal with the situation.

I sometimes, out of my son's hearing, swore that way.

The man was still there and he had not gone far. Perhaps a handful of steps, just far enough for him to reach one of the many rocks that jutted up through the soil so that he was sitting on it. We approached from the back and from the back he was only a man. Tall and broad shouldered and dark haired. Like so many other men. But my heart still resounded in my chest like a broken lyre string. Because I knew better. His head was in his large hand but he lifted it and turned his face to look long before we had reached him. We had not been making noise. But he had known we were there anyway.

And Briseis, next to me, seeing that face turned toward her, let out a soft sound like a moan and sank to her knees.

I should have warned her. But what would I have said?

I stood my ground. Even as those dark eyes assessed us both while the body around them sat in perfect stillness. And I knew enough about men - and warriors - to know that his stillness was nothing restful or slack. I could feel the muscles in my face tightening again. Could feel the panicked pounding of my heart. My Hector in a thousand ways and yet not my Hector at all in a thousand more. I felt as if my heart were being torn in two and I hadn't known that I still had any heart left to break that way.

Norm 'Hoot' Gibson was up Shit Creek as his grandma would have said. As far as he knew he still had at least one proverbial paddle so it wasn't a complete wash but some things were definitely wrong in his world at the moment.

First and foremost was that he didn't know where he was. Granted, he didn't consider that the biggest problem because he'd been dropped in plenty of places not knowing exactly where he was. And, from experience alone, he could tell you that knowing where you were wasn't necessarily the same as KNOWING where you were.

Secondly, he didn't have his weapons on him. Again, not a huge worry, because he was good at what he did and improvisation was a huge chunk of 'what he did'. But it was still something that needed addressing and probably soon.

Third - well, third was a toss up between women screaming at him and the headache he was fairly sure he hadn't done anything to deserve.

To deal with the first problem - well, it was warm and sunny and green and there were big sized horses around him. So he ruled out Siberia, Antarctica and the Sahara. Or at least parts of Siberia. Since the dark haired woman had fled screaming, his closest threat was the horses, who, frankly, weren't paying him any attention other than the sidelong glance from time to time as he moved. That was fine with him. He wasn't a big animal fan. Dogs were fine. He liked dogs. But that was as far as he was willing to go. Well, maybe a hamster. One of those ones that looked like a black bear when it reared up on its little back paws. His nephew had one of those and Hoot couldn't help it if he liked the idea of such a tiny critter thinking it was really a giant black bear just waiting to happen. But horses - he didn't trust horses. If he was steering something he liked knowing he was the only brain involved in the process.

Still, he supposed horses had points. Their heads lifted and their ears pricked before he'd heard any approach himself. Turning his head he saw two women this time.

Sanderson would have been dying of laughter, teasing him about waking up in a sunny field surrounded by women in diaphanous gowns. Maybe Sanderson was laughing his head off. It hadn't slipped his notice that he might have done something to tick the other Delta off enough to merit getting a prank like this pulled on him. At least they'd left him dressed. Sanchez hadn't been so lucky when they'd dumped him at the top of the Eiffel Tower on account of him being a prick and almost getting them all suspended for dipping into travel funds when he'd been the only one doing it.

One of his brows lifted when the first woman went to her knees. He thought he recognized the second woman that was still standing. She'd been the screamer. She looked more composed now even if she did look like a stiff breeze would knock her over. In fact, unless he missed his guess, and with women you could never know for sure, he thought she looked mad. Probably because he was bothering her horses. Well, if she'd point him toward the nearest civilized area, he'd get out of her hair. The way the other woman was looking at him made him uncomfortable. And he wasn't used to anything making him uncomfortable anymore. First things first though…

"You wouldn't happen to have an aspirin on you, would you, ma'am?" he asked.

His voice wasn't Hector's when he spoke. It was still that hinted depth that I knew from experience could drop a tone and wrap you in liquid warmth. But he used it differently and the way he formed his words was strange. They ran slower and melted closer together. And I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Hector?" Briseis gasped it and I almost hit her.

One of my closest friends now and I almost struck her to hear her apply that precious name to the abomination that was trying so hard and so fracturedly to represent my husband. His face tipped slightly to the side and his dark eyes, already narrowed slightly, narrowed some more.

"Excuse me?" he asked and again the voice and the way he used it was all wrong. Briseis looked up at me but I didn't respond to the question in her eyes and so she turned her attention back to him. I noticed she had not risen to her feet. And suddenly I was not hurt anymore. I was angry. Angry that - whatever creature he was, for whatever reason he was here, that he had come to me, wearing the form he was wearing to remind me of all I had lost. And somehow, I was even more angry that he could not even form Hector properly.

"He's not Hector" I said and I said it sharply. Briseis looked up at me in surprise but the man was watching me with those dark eyes of his. The way Hector used to watch sometimes. As if he were not just noticing but he were taking in every detail and seeing more than he should because of it. And that familiar scrutiny somehow only made me angrier. I wanted him gone!

Whatever he saw on my face he stayed seated and calm as he looked at Briseis.

"I ain't Hector" he agreed as if somehow he needed to. When he spoke the name it sounded odd on his tongue. "Name's Hoot. And I really need to find a telephone or something. Is there an American base or embassy around here somewhere?"

We both blinked at that. 'Hoot'. Like the owl. Athena's symbol. And that goddess had hated us in the war. Given her support to her creature Odysseus and we had lost our city because of his conniving ways. Anything sent from Athena now, whether she meant it as good or otherwise, was far too little and far too late as far as I was concerned. Briseis, a bit wiser perhaps and certainly more faithful to the gods, didn't see it that way. But she still knew enough to know that this might just be one more trap. Or test.

"Hoot" she repeated the word and one of his dark eyebrows shifted again and he nodded.

"Yeah" he agreed after a minute in which she offered nothing else. Slowly, gingerly, he stood up than and my breath caught in my chest. He was a huge man. So tall. My Hector had been such a tall man too. But I had never felt the intimidation that such a size had given my husband over his enemies the way I was distinctly aware of the amount of sun this 'hoot' covered when he stood.

"Look" I recognized the tone. It was one you used when you were dealing with people who just might be crazy. And - for just one traitorous moment, I felt sympathy for the man. He continued: "I'm sorry if I've bothered your horses or anything. If you want you can just point me toward the nearest town and I'll be out of your hair."

"The nearest 'town' is what is left of Troy." I am not sure why I said it. Honestly, our lean-to shanties and small collection of huts was closer but I was not about to tell anyone that. Briseis, next to me, gasped again. Because - we all knew what would happen to someone that looked like this man in the burned out shell of our once proud city. Where the Greeks waited still…

His eyes narrowed and the look he gave me said he'd picked up on the fact there were hooks in my 'help'. I did not know why I was feeling so cruel. Except - he had dared come to me in my husband's form…

"I'm guessin' that's not Troy, Alabama" he hazarded and it was my turn to have my eyebrows wrinkling. "Where exactly am I?"

He didn't trust her. She wasn't lying to him. Hoot could tell that much. But - there was something in her eyes that reminded him of a snake. And not the cold kind. But the kind that knew exactly what they were doing and even enjoyed it when they nailed you out of the blue. If he didn't know better he'd say she hated him. And it wasn't that he wasn't used to people hating him, he was just used to knowing why they hated him. Maybe she blamed him for something 'American'. Wouldn't be the first time he'd faced spite just because he was a soldier. But he wasn't in uniform and he was having a hard time imagining terrorists or warlords somehow getting their hands on him without him knowing how and than dropping him in a field somewhere to be accosted by a beautiful woman.

Something sure the hell was rotten in Denmark though.

"I do not know this Allhabhama" she answered and her voice was calm. Not a trace of what was in her eyes hinted at in that low voice. "Troy is Troy. Ilium. The city of Troy in the country of Troy, near the Hellespont and under the shadow of Mount Ida."

Shit.

Oh - shit. There went at least one of his proverbial paddles.

"Turkey. I'm in Turkey" he stated. No passport. It was going to be a bitch legally if he went knocking on the wrong official doors here for a lift home. Still, at least he knew where he was now. Vaguely. He knew Hellespont. And he had a vague recollection of the tourist version of Troy being on the coast south of Istanbul. Somewhere. Absent he rubbed his fingers against his forehead.

"Turkey?" it was the smaller woman. He was already thinking of her as 'the young girl' while the other one was 'that tall woman'. Hector raised a brow mildly at her. Fairly sure that people from Turkey referred to their country as Turkey. At his gesture the young girl shook her head. "I don't understand."

"We don't need to understand" that tall woman told her. "He wants the nearest town. It is Troy. Troy is that way" she looked back at him when she said that last sentence and pointed down the field.

"Andromache!" the young girl was horrified. "They'll kill him!"

"Nonsense" that tall woman replied. "He is not Hector. What does he have to fear from the Achaians?"

That was - worrisome. Not the getting killed part. Hoot wasn't exactly easy to kill. Sure, someday someone would get lucky, but that was part of the deal. Strolling into a tourist town wasn't going to get him killed.

Unless there was a drug lord's compound between here and there. Or an operation. Poppies and opium were issues in Turkey. And the last thing a drug lord would want was some American stumbling onto his airfield and asking questions. It would explain the look in that tall woman's eyes. Finding a good weapon went up a notch in priority.

"Andromache" the young girl hissed it.

I did not care. I wanted him gone. Every time he used his eyebrows to speak without words I was seeing my Hector. I knew he had a headache still because of the way his dark eyes stayed slightly narrow. The way Hector's always had when he had a headache and was not speaking of it. And I knew he did not trust me.

Good. He should not trust me. Sent from cruel Athena, looking like a mockery of my dead love, and I trying to raise the son of a fallen hero, the kind the gods loved so to prey upon - No. He should not trust me at all. And to me it did not matter if he was a willing pawn or not in whatever game the gods were trying to play. Lost traveler or intentional agent of more sorrow - I owed them nothing.

I owed him nothing.

Briseis would have protested. I saw it on her face. She had more faith in the gods' benevolence than I did. And - she was a good woman. In her heart, she would never send a stranger to death. She was better than me in that and I suddenly realized that if I died - it was her I would want raising my son. Someone who was compassionate and kind. Astyanax needed to learn those traits as he grew into a warrior. His father had had them. I did not. Not anymore.

She would have protested. But, at the bone, I was her queen. My decisions on this were final. I had never used my authority over her. I had never needed to. But if she had pushed me on this - I would have. Cruel and cold and heartless, I would have forced her to my will. But she did not push me. Instead she bowed her head.

"Will you at least provide him a guide?" she asked softly. "It will be dark before he is off the mountain and in the night a man could miss the road to Troy."

I shut my eyes. I did not want to help him. I wanted him gone. I needed him gone. Before my anger finally burned too low and I found myself throwing my weak body into his false arms and begging him to pretend to be real. Even the thought was a betrayal of my husband and I needed him dead for doing that to me.

And yet I found myself rationalizing. If I sent someone with him I would know he was gone. Know that he would not suddenly be appearing when I wasn't ready for him. Know the Greeks really had taken him. Thoughts and shadows would not gnaw at the edges of my mind about this strange, cruel trap the gods had left in my path. I would know he was dead and no more a threat to me and mine.

"I will take him" I decided and an inward part of me, treacherous and weak, was relieved. Briseis started to shake her head and I shook mine instead.

"I will take him part of the way. Until he is on the road. And once I am sure he is well away I will return. When I return I want you to have the village ready to move. If he is a spy, we should not be where we were. I want you and Padme to take charge of Astyanax while I am away. And tell Aeneas - " I hesitated and than committed. Partially. "Tell Aeneas that I would like to know where he intends to go if we travel and how. I will want details of it by the time I get back."

Briseis' eyes were wide.

"Andromache - you can't!"

I gave her a smile than. And it was real for all that it felt tired. Gentle I touched her cheek.

"It will be all right" I told her. Though I lied for my idea of 'all right' most certainly would not match hers. If this 'hoot' was a trap sent by the gods than I would take it away from what I loved. If it wanted my son, than I would lead it far from him. If it wanted me… well, what did I have left to offer? I would lure this strange man away from what little was left that I loved and I would make sure he never came back. I understood all too well why it was so sought after by men to die for their country. It was so much easier than living for it.

The man cleared his throat.

"Not that I'm chopped liver or anything, but I am right here" he clarified. "And I work better alone. Just tell me a few land marks I should look for and I'll find the coast on my own."

He did not trust me. And that was well. For I did not trust him either. I did not have his best interests at heart. But I had mine. So I was honest about my thoughts as I looked at him.

"I do not trust you to leave simply because you walk out of my sight. I will escort you as far as the road and than I will leave you to whatever fate the gods see fit to give you" I told him. His eyebrows rose and I could almost see him biting back a dry retort.

"All right" he nodded. "Unless you've got gear for the trip" he gestured. As eager to be going as I was to see him gone. "Lead the way."


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

He followed behind her. One, because he couldn't exactly lead where he didn't know he was going and two, because if he was walking behind he could keep a better eye on the surrounding area. And she couldn't stab him in the back. He had noticed she had a well worn dagger on her belt after all.

She walked like a woman that was used to getting from place to place as quickly and with as little nonsense as possible. The sway in her slim hips was subtle and her arms moved at her side just enough to show she was used to having things in them when she walked. In truth, he wasn't so worried about her stabbing him. She could have done that when she'd first found him if she'd wanted and - he didn't think she'd be very good at stabbing things. Not that he intended to give her a chance to prove him wrong.

Strangely, he wasn't upset about her hating him. Not doing what he did for a living. You let people that hate you get under your skin, you might as well just start handing out numbers because there were far too many of those waiting in line to take a swing at you. He even deserved some of that hatred. So despite the fact she didn't wish him any good and would probably give him a push if he stood too close to the edge of a high cliff, he didn't qualify her as a clear and present danger. More of an opportunistic danger. He could handle opportunistic dangers. You just had to stay alert and aware of your surroundings.

Which he was paying attention to as they walked. And he wasn't seeing any sights of civilization. In fact, he hadn't heard a single plane go overhead or even the distant noise of a car horn. They really were out in the middle of nowhere. So why the hell -

"Why're you dressed like that?" he asked.

We'd been walking in silence. I was leading. The first reason for this was because he didn't know the way and the second was that I didn't want him walking in front of me. The - leggings he was wearing were very - immodest. I was used to seeing men in long skirts. Even war skirts which revealed a great deal more but at least covered most of the thigh and higher. It was not as if I was a virgin. I had grown up with seven brothers, I had a son that delighted in escaping naked from his bath and I had been more than intimately familiar with my husband's body. But - the man's clothes left very little to the imagination in front and almost nothing to the imagination in the back. I did not want to find myself comparing him to my husband's body. It was cruel enough being reminded of it. The insides of my thighs ached with the lost memory of my husband's body against mine.

It was not fair. And it was not right. No man had touched me since my husband and none would ever now. But - I had at least been able to pretend I did not remember, and miss, my Hector's touch and what it had been able to do to my body. How very right and how much joy it had brought me to be his and his alone in that way.

And now a lecher flaunting himself was bringing back that familiar physical ache. And it was hard to fan the anger enough to burn everything else I was feeling away.

I had never been good at anger. Or rather I had been spectacular at anger - in short, brilliant bursts of flame and fire. Holding anger, keeping it alive for long periods of time… I had never been very good at that. And as emotionally barren as I was now, it was harder still for me to hold anything but my familiar protective apathy. But I tried. Hector deserved no less from me.

"I am in mourning" I answered him when he spoke. And my voice didn't have the harshness and snap it should have. Instead it was only tired. He made a noise that said something made sense now and was silent for a while longer. The mountainside sloped harsher and I began to reach out to use the pines growing near me to keep my descent steady.

"Your friend was wearing a fancy dress like you too" he commented after a while. Still behind me and somehow moving almost silently despite his greater bulk and odd shoes.

"She is in mourning too" I stated. Though it was not entirely true. Briseis had, while not moved on from the memory of her love, moved on with her life without him. I merely pretended I had. Though I found it odd the man behind me should think the common wool and rough weave I wore now merited the term 'fancy'. If I had been in Troy I would have been in airy cotton and silks that would have revealed what I wore now as what it was. The dress of a woman fallen on hard times.

But Astyanax did not care what I wore and as long as my clothing was clean and in good repair it was enough example to my people.

He made another noise. And I silently cursed the fact that, as durable as the dress was, I had still forgotten my sandals. So while my legs were protected, the soles of my feet were far from it.

"Are you not allowed to wear jeans?" he asked and I sensed he was verbally picking his way around something. I stopped against a tree and looked at him over my shoulder. He did not look so much like Hector at the moment. Too strange and too foreign. Even the silver bracer he wore on only one arm at his wrist was too small. The slanting shadows from the pines across his face helped.

"What are 'geens'?" I asked. My curse of curiosity despite telling myself I did not care if I did not understand half of what he said.

And than he smiled.

It was not my husband's smile. Not my Hector's wide, open, complete grin of contentment and peace. It was a quick thing, a flash of teeth, quiet and fleeting but honest all the same.

"Jeans" he corrected in his odd manner of speaking. "You know - pants." He tapped his own leggings with tapered fingers. "It'd be easier getting up and down mountains and taking care of horses if you weren't in such a fancy dress." He shrugged and the smile was gone, only lingering around the edges of his mouth and the corners of his eyes but it had changed his face. "Is it a cultural or religious thing?"

"Pants?" I had lost track of how badly I wanted him gone and why. Caught by the puzzle of - 'pants'. Cultural or religious? It was an odd question. I did not know that the gods cared what we wore and I wore what I wore because everyone else wore the same thing. Did that make it cultural? I found myself looking at his own long legs encased in the strange blue leggings he wore. Hector had had beautiful legs… And than I realized what I was doing and snapped my eyes back up to his face. And those dark eyes that were starting to look amused.

"No, I don't wear 'pants'" I snapped. Turning back to the journey downward and starting carefully forward again. "I would never be that wanton, flaunting myself like a Philistia dancing girl. You would be able to see my legs if I wore - 'pants'."

"ah." He made the noise behind me and there was a brief pause before he muttered: "Cause guys aren't supposed to know girls have legs." But since he'd said it to himself I could pretend I hadn't heard. Pants! What kind of strange culture invented such shocking clothing? I realized I had no idea and that bothered me. I prided myself on being intelligent and I had a thrice-damned curiosity that was never satisfied. Hector had loved it but I knew it was not considered suitable for a woman. And now I found myself realizing that, not only did I not know where my stranger came from but that I was curious about it. I would not ask though. I did not care where the gods had plucked him from. They could very well take him back there and good to have him gone!

As if to reward me for the thought, my foot came down hard on one of the hidden bones of the mountain and I made a stifled noise and caught myself against a tree.

'Hoot' was at my side faster than he should have been and one of his hands curled around my elbow. I jerked away from him as if his touch had burned me. For it had. Right through the fabric of my sleeve and down into the very core of my bone. He received the full power of one of my glares.

"Don't touch me" I stated. "Don't ever touch me."

'You'd think I'm Jack the Ripper', Hoot thought as she jerked away and gave him a glare that would have taught his drill sergeants a thing or two about bringing someone to their knees. Automatically he held up his hands, palm outward. The world recognized 'see this is me not touching you' sign. You didn't touch a woman that was talking to you in that low, dangerously calm tone of voice that hinted she knew how to castigate a man and make sure he lived through it. Fire in her eyes and deathly cold in her voice. He didn't know whether to feel sorry for her husband or thump the man on the back.

Than again, if she had a husband, why was she the one wandering off into the unknown with a strange man?

"You're hurt" he pointed out the obvious instead.

"Yes" she answered as if it had been a stupid observation.

Undeterred he told her: "Sit down and let me have a look at it."

The flash of wide brown eyes, suddenly so hopelessly vulnerable and innocent, hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest and told him she had just realized the very question he'd just finished asking himself about the wisdom of wandering off into the wild woods with a strange man.

"No!"

He kept his hands in front of him and in sight.

"If I wanted to do anything to you, I would have already" he told her calmly. Voice softening in response. How many abused women had he come across in his life? In how many countries? Cowering or using that thin, false bravado after what they'd been put through. She wasn't there. There was nothing false about her fierceness. But he'd seen too many women on the other side of 'a bad situation' to not feel empathy for one that was just realizing she might be about to enter that territory. Just because he'd never hurt a woman didn't mean she knew that.

"I want to look at your feet. Only your feet."

She shifted against the pine. As if it could grow arms and protect her. But there was nothing mindless or panicked in her eyes when they looked at his face.

"I can look at my own feet" she told him. Warning. And than, as the way it sounded reached both of them, one edge of her lips curved. Barely there and gone. It did sound odd.

"Okay" he squatted down where he was, resting on his heels. "Look at your feet" his lips twitched as well as she, almost, glanced down to complete the joke. Watching him carefully, she settled down next to her protective tree instead. If he'd really wanted to do anything to her, she was easily within arm's reach. In fact, she was closer than he was usually comfortable with people being. But it didn't feel uncomfortable.

I settled in. Waiting a moment. But 'hoot' did nothing other than watch. So I drew my legs up and carefully moved the hem of my dress aside. Already suspecting what I would see as I gingerly turned my soles over to look at them closer. It had been foolish of me to leave the pastures so thoughtlessly and now I was paying the price for it. My feet were not as delicate as they had been two years ago. But they were still not rock hard. The mountain had done its damage to them and not only were they filthy, they were torn and bruised. The last rock had left a long cut down the pad of my foot and I did not press the skin to see how deep it had gone. Suspecting it was worse than it looked.

"Are shoes immodest too?" 'hoot' asked me and his voice sounded angry. But angry the way Hector's had sounded when I had hurt myself over lifting something too heavy or not being cautious enough with one of the knives when I was cutting. Something he thought he should have been able to save me from. Burned fingers and stubbed toes. My husband had always thought he should be able to spare me from everything. Even the tiny things. And now there was no one to even save me from slavery or worse - much less to hold me and let me feel safe again... I pressed my lips together and pretended it was because now that my feet were not moving they were starting to throb and shook my head.

"I forgot my sandals" I admitted softly. That part at least, even as unfair as I wanted to be, I couldn't blame on him so there was no anger in me. "I should have been paying more attention."

He was quiet for a moment. Than, softly, he asked: "Who's Hector?"

It was strange how stoically I took that. Almost as if I hadn't realized I was waiting for the question.

"My husband" I answered, voice low.

It was quiet a moment longer and I stared through blurred eyes at my abused feet. Not able to muster the attention needed to deal with them.

"And I look like him." He sounded almost sorry about that. And my own 'sorry' was too great for me to take advantage of that and snap at him. Instead I could only mutely nod my head. A moment passed in mutual silence and than he sighed and looked away for another long moment. "Explains a lot" he stated. More to himself than me. And than he moved over so he was kneeling in front of me, fabric of his 'jeans' suddenly tight over the muscles of his thighs, and took one of my bare feet in his large hands.

I jerked from his touch. For I had not been touched by a man since my husband had left me that last gods deserted morning. It was better to flinch from the unfamiliarity than from the fact that it had been my stomach that had tightened and jumped before my foot had reacted. I groped desperately for the anger in response.

"Let go" I told him, voice harsh and he met my eyes with a look that said he didn't believe me. So I clarified with "Now" to emphasize I was making no joke. He shook his head and his long fingers were tight around my heel for all they had not hurt me. Yet.

"No" he answered. "But if you want this to be over with quicker, you'll use that knife of yours to cut some strips from the hem of your dress so I can wrap up your feet."

My narrowed eyes, furious, met his and his dark eyes were just as narrow.

"Nobody's every out-stubborned me yet" he warned me, voice flat. "Don't even try it."

She was going to try. Hoot could see it in her eyes. They were going to be stuck here all night long while she waited for him to let go and he waited for her to give up. Well, he'd be damned if he was going to let her lame herself stomping around in the woods just to spite him.

He was angry. Angry at her. What kind of woman wandered off without shoes on? What kind of woman wandered off without shoes on into the deep woods with some strange man? It wasn't like him to get angry over someone else's choices, even when they were stupid. But he was either angry at her because she wasn't taking care of herself… or he was angry at her because he looked like her husband and there was obviously something about her husband that made her - that brought that hopelessly vulnerable look to her honey colored eyes. Which wasn't her fault at all. So he decided he was angry at her for being a stubborn female and it didn't matter if she'd looked like she was about to cry a moment ago and it had panicked him inside his chest. Not because he wasn't used to crying women. His youngest sister was a champion at 'guilt tears' when she wanted something. It was the thought of her crying. Because he'd made her cry. Because he looked like her damn husband who obviously wasn't around the way he should be!

"I hate you" she told him and it was with all the passion and honesty of a child.

"Yeah. Well, I ain't too fond of you at the moment either, lady" he responded.

She made a noise. A snort of almost silent air and her every move said she was doing this to get him to leave her alone as she slipped her dagger from her belt. Their eyes met for a moment and they both thought how easy it would be for her to lean forward and nail him a good one with it. Or at least she could try. Hoot was more than a little capable in the hand-to-hand department. But instead she leaned forward and efficiently started to cut strips from the hem of her woolen dress.

He watched her hands as they moved. Recognized the movements of someone that was more than a little familiar with cutting bandages from any available cloth. Despite her obvious displeasure, she still moved so gracefully he wondered if she'd gone to a class for it or something. It wasn't effusive or showy. Just - simple and graceful and taking as little extra movement and effort as possible. Again - someone that was used to getting things done.

"There" she snapped it as she dropped the cloth bandages near his knee and again their eyes met and he knew she was thinking of simply waiting until his grip loosened, putting her foot against his chest and giving him a good, solid push. So he was ready for it when he rested her foot on his thigh and reached for the bandages. But she didn't. Which was just as well. He hadn't exactly been trained in 'gentle' take-downs.

Silent and just as efficient, he carefully cleaned her foot as best as he could and, using some of the cloth as padding, wrapped her foot against further damage. He tied it off, careful to make sure it wasn't too tight, and realized she'd shifted a bit and was watching what he was doing to her foot curiously. Acting as if he wasn't aware of her, he reached for her other foot and carefully set to work on it too. Movements only slightly exaggerated to make what he was doing easy to follow.

Frustrating woman. How she turned her anger on and off like that was a mystery to him. He was still simmering but without her own antagonism to fed him he couldn't stay angry at her. He'd never really been mad at her to start with. He didn't get angry over little things like that. No, the simmering anger was at himself. And worse yet, he'd known that all along.

He was very good at what he was doing. If I watched the process it was easier to pretend I could not feel the way his hands moved against the bare skin of my feet. If I concentrated on how he was doing what he was doing, I could tell myself that I felt nothing more from his touch than from the touch of a stray dog and so I was still faithful to my husband's memory. I concentrated very carefully on what he was doing.

He drew a sharp splinter of rock from my heel and I flinched at the new pain it brought. His head lifted and his eyes met mine. And he did not chide me for being a child and forgetting my sandals in my rush to be rid of him. His dark head bent again but the damage had been done. My mind had shifted where it should not have. I looked at the top of his head, seeing the way the dark hair was so close cropped that it couldn't quite turn into the waves it wanted to. Hector's hair would have been a mess by now, constantly raked by his fingers in frustration. My pleasure and my privilege to be the one that got to gently smooth the tangles out of it and set it back into its wayward place. But 'hoot' had barely touched his hair since the beginning of this and it lay in its own natural discord without help. It smelled funny. Pleasant but not of sandalwood or myrrh or any of the other smells I was used to men anointing themselves with. I wondered why he wore it so short and what that smell was and if he had a woman at home that messed it up with her own fingers because he didn't.

I was lifting my hand - I refuse to think of why - when I heard it. And my head snapped around and my hand fell to my side.

Someone was coming down the mountainside just as we had. Following roughly our path.

My hand on my dagger tightened. They were coming down from the mountain - not headed up. It was probably one of my people. Probably…

'Hoot' had finished with my other foot and he stayed as he was. Wrapped in stillness as he listened to the approach of the intruder. And again I was caught by the thought that there was nothing relaxed or lax about his stillness. His hand moved. Took my knife from me and, stupidly, without complaint, I automatically let him.

He rose to his full height and it completely hid me where I was still sitting.


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

"Andromache?"

Zeus' third leg! How did she always manage to be where she should not? I stood gingerly on my newly wrapped feet and moved so that I was in front of 'hoot'.

"Yes, Helen" I answered and a moment later, looking disheveled and yet beautifully so in a way I could never have managed, gold haired Helen found her way around one of the trees.

"Andromache, I've been looking for you and - oh!"

It was a sweet little gasp and in her innocently beautiful face her brilliant blue eyes went wide. Like a doe caught in a hunter's snare. Men tripped over themselves to help a woman who looked that attractively helpless.

Men went to war for it.

"Hector!" She said his name and it held all the myriad of emotions his name should hold for someone that had known him and seen him fall. If I had tried with all my might, I myself, could not have put so much into saying my husband's name. 'Hoot' sighed.

"No" he answered, voice flat and firm. "I'm not."

"But - I saw you die!" One of her small, delicate hands closed in a tiny fist over her chest. "I held your son while they burned your body!"

"I'm not Hector. I'm not dead. And I don't have a son" 'hoot' bit out, starting to sound angry again. But his eyes flicked to mine and the anger in them was not for me. But I knew what his mind was telling him. My Hector, my husband. Dead. Without a word I turned and started down the mountain again.

"Where are you going?" Helen wanted to know as 'hoot' fell into step behind me.

"To Troy" I answered and heard her tiny squeak of protest.

"You can't!" she caught up to me. "They'll kill him!"

"No one's going to kill me" 'hoot' sounded more annoyed by the insistence than concerned about it. "I just want to find a damn phone." I didn't answer anything at all. In the face of my silence Helen turned her attention on the man behind us.

"Do you want to die again?!" she demanded. "They killed you once. They'll kill you again!"

"Listen" 'hoot's' voice was sharp and hard. "I ain't dead. Better yet, I ain't ever been dead. I'm not Hector. I'm Hoot. And the only way anyone is going to kill me is if I'm not back on base before my leave runs out and I'm marked as AWOL."

"Hector!"

"Hoot!"

Helen made a noise that was the equivalent of a dainty foot stomp.

"You died because of me once. I'm not going to let it happen again" she told him, voice both stubborn and somehow close to tears. I didn't turn and look at her but the shock ran through me. I had never known that she blamed herself for my Hector's death. I had known that others had but I did not know that she had taken it to heart as truth. My heart suddenly hurt for her. Helen, like Paris, so young and carrying such guilt inside them.

And they did not know it was my fault Hector had died that day. I had not been able to convince him to stay. For me. For our son. I should have done more, I should have drugged his drink that morning as I'd been tempted to, I should have said something or done something. I should have begged. It was my fault he had walked out that gate and been lost to us all.

I had not been enough to keep him.

"Look" 'hoot' said and his voice was sympathetic but held steel under it. "I'm sorry about this Hector guy. I really am. But I'm not him. I'm not dead or back from the dead or anything like that. I'm an American soldier who's gotten dumped in BFE and I just want to find a way home, a'ight? So stop feelin' guilty, stop yellin' at me and stop callin' me Hector."

Helen fell silent than and we walked in quiet for a time. Our progress slowly slightly. Helen was not used to tromping about far from the camp as I was but even more, her legs were shorter and I had forgotten that when I walked with Hector I had become accustomed to not automatically shortening my stride.

Finally Helen looked over at me, flawless face slightly flushed from her exertion.

"What if he's sent by the gods?" she whispered to me, half in awe, half in fear. If anyone had learned to fear divine interference it would be her.

"Than I'm sending him back" I answered bluntly. Emotions hardening at the thought that the gods were toying with us again.

Helen blinked, wide eyes very blue in the shadows of the forest.

"Can you do that?"

"I can damn well try" I answered back and saw her eyes widen again at my choice of phrasing.

"So I'm seeing another fancy dress" 'hoot' piped up from behind us. Reminding us that not only was he there but there was nothing wrong with his ears. "And hearing a lot of talk about the 'gods'. Is this a religious commune? Is that why ya'll are so far out in the boondocks?"

There was so much about what he'd just said that I hadn't understood.

"Boondocks?" Helen asked, turning her head as she stopped to pick her way daintily over a fallen branch. I did not want them getting into a conversation. It was - annoying.

"Helen" I interrupted before anything could start. "What are you doing here?"

"Briseis sent me" she responded with all the innocence of someone that was used to not being found at fault for anything she did. My eyebrows arched.

"Did she?" I asked dryly and she nodded helpfully.

"She didn't say why. She just said you might need some help."

I did not roll my eyes because it would have hurt her feelings but if I'd needed 'help' I would have asked for one of the few remaining Apollonian, not a delicate, naïve sister in law. But I understood why Briseis had sent Helen.

Helen was the only one that still, somehow, operated outside the Trojan mindset. To everyone else I had become 'Queen'. And no matter how little I used the power, it was still there and everyone responded to me accordingly. Helen however still thought of herself as a queen, even though she'd given up Sparta for Paris. She had no authority here but she didn't have a mentality that supported authority over her if it was not old and bearded. Male in other words. She never gave me trouble or disagreed. It was just that there was not a small corner of her that saw me as anything more than Andromache, her sister in law and stand-in older sibling from time to time. That - and Helen was an innocent and Briseis must have known how she would react to both seeing 'hoot' and to what my plan of disposing of him was.

The trees were beginning to thin and I slowed. We were coming to exposed country now. Ida's foothills would go on for a way further but the sheltering trees and difficult uphill slopes that were such a large part of our protection were fading. I, who had lived so many years on open plans and forever horizons found I had grown nervous of flat, empty spaces in the two years past.

'Hoot' didn't try to follow up on his unanswered questions either now that we were more exposed and I felt his presence behind me as I stopped at the edge of a clearing. His voice when he spoke was low and much closer to me than it had been. I felt that if I tipped my head back it would touch his chest.

"Let me guess, the road's ahead of us a ways and its really not a safe place to be."

It really hadn't taken a genius to figure that one out, he thought. He'd known that tall woman was trying to ditch him somewhere and he'd definitely gotten the impression, mostly because people kept insisting 'he'd be killed - again', that she was planning on ditching him somewhere unpleasant and probably dangerous. Or at least close to somewhere dangerous. Which was actually all right with him. If she wasn't turning him directly over to 'bad guys' he could keep himself out of trouble easily enough and 'bad guys' usually tended to be pretty connected to the rest of the world. Maybe he could sneak in and get himself a radio or a satellite phone or hell, even a computer or fax machine.

She still hadn't moved and, despite her height, he still had a good view over the top of her head.

"Yes" she answered, surprising him because if you were trying to get someone killed you usually didn't agree with them when they mentioned it. He nodded. He had a thoroughly ingrained aversion to wide-open exposed places himself. His general lifestyle tended to do that kind of thing to you.

He realized he'd shunted the blond girl off into secondary status. Not forgetting her but relegating her to a back burner. She was looking at him and her little girl eyes were worried and helpless.

"Look" he stated, voice low. "Just point me in the right direction, Andawmoshy. You girls go home and I'll take things from here."

"Andromache." Her voice was distant as she corrected him automatically.

"Andrewmanky?"

Her head swiveled and she was looking up at him with eyes that didn't know whether to laugh or stare in horror. Her full lips shifted and for a moment, just a moment, there was light in her dark eyes. The beginning of a smile.

And he realized he was in trouble.

"An-DROM-a-key" she pronounced each syllable carefully for him.

"Andromeda" he agreed.

Her amber eyes actually rolled at him and the smile flickered closer to the surface.

"No" she corrected. "Andromache. Andromeda means 'ruler of men'. My name means 'battle of a man'. And I'm hardly chained to a rock."

His smile was there. That quick, quiet flare of light. And, since it did not remind me of Hector, forgetting to guard myself, I was happy to see it.

"Well, that does explain a bit" his slow voice teased me. Hector forgive me, for that moment, it was a pleasant feeling in my chest. I was just opening my mouth to answer that challenge when his head snapped up and away from mine and I too heard what he had. Voices.

And my heart froze in my chest because I recognized the shoddy accents.


	5. Chapter 5

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

Greeks!

Eyes wide as I felt the blood rush from my face, I spun on my heel to look. But 'hoot' was already pulling me and again, inexplicably, I went unresisting. When my heart slid back down out of my throat, I found myself pinned against a tree. Or rather, my back was pinned against a tree. My front was pinned against - 'hoot'. For a moment, that was suddenly much more important to me than Achaians. If I had not been touched by a man in two years, I had certainly not been pressed intimately against one. 'Hoot' was the same height Hector had been and the press of his body against mine, his chest against mine, his thighs against mine… Maybe if he'd been in battle armour I wouldn't have felt it but he was in those immodest leggings and the tunic he was wearing was some soft, fairly thin fabric. It was as if every nerve in my body had suddenly swum to the surface of my skin and was hungry for sensation. I had to actually shut my eyes against it. In two years I had told myself that my body was functional without my husband's touch. That I was, if not good, at least fine, now, after all this time. That I was not mad for what I had lost.

My body now proved me very wrong.

Sick with guilt and furious with myself at my traitorous reaction to some stranger's touch, I fought myself tooth and nail back into the present danger.

Back to the Greek voices that were suddenly so much less a threat than the position I found myself in because of them. Careful not to shift against 'hoot' any more than I absolutely had to, I turned my head and looked back toward the clearing. Where the Achaians were questioning a man that looked surprisingly familiar…

For a second, when he'd automatically moved to shield her between himself and the tree, she'd rested her face against his throat. The soft body pressed against his he could handle. He'd been expecting it since he'd been the one that had put her between him and the tree in the first place. But the trusting touch of her face tucking against his throat had almost had him calling all bets off. Right in the middle of sliding into his familiar fighting mind set and she had almost jumped that train right off its tracks with her innocent little move.

Worse yet, it wasn't like he could regret it.

Hell. Hell, hell, and triple hell. He was in so much shit. That canoe had long since sunk and left him up to his neck and doggy paddling.

The little girl was pressed up against his back where he'd moved her when he'd grabbed that tall woman and that tall woman, well, she was dangerously safe between him and the tree. The little girl's body wasn't proving a distraction but the one pressed against his chest…

Still he was a soldier. A Delta in fact. And amoung the Delta he was still the best of the best. Add to that, it was possible his life might be in danger and he managed to focus past the immediate. His eyes narrowed to see better as both he and the woman in front of him looked around the tree.

"Ah hell…" it was half growl, half mumble.

"He is one of your people." That tall woman whispered it and he nodded. That was one way of putting it. He didn't have to wonder how she knew. As if the 'pants' hadn't been a dead giveaway. And, better or worse still, he even recognized which of his people it was.

Jeff Sanderson, American Delta and fellow soldier, was rubbing at the back of his neck at whatever the other men had questioned him about and shaking his head. What the hell was going on anyway, Hoot wondered. Why the fuck were the men around his friend dressed up like historic re-enactors? Nobody wore metal armour like that anymore. Or carried swords and huge ass shields. It was like they'd stumbled across a fucking remake of a Ben Hur movie or something.

"You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me" he muttered. And than Sanderson said something that apparently didn't met with group approval because one of the costumed freaks hit him.

Sanderson was a bit slimmer than Hoot but he was just as tough as they came and he took the blow without falling over. The fact that all of the swords were unsheathed and pointed at him might explain why he took the blow too instead of breaking the man's arm instead. Hoot couldn't see well from here but if his friend was treating the swords as sharp and pointy, he'd take his word for it.

"Bad guys?" he asked low and that tall woman answered just as softly:

"Very bad."

He nodded.

"Okay. I want you girls to stay here and stay hidden. Don't move unless it looks like they're headed this way and than I want you to run, got it?" The girl behind him nodded but the woman in front of him shook her head.

"You will stand a better chance if they come into the trees" she said. "Circle around and we will draw them here."

"I'm not going to argue with you" he snapped quietly. Not about to involve her in any of this even if he had a suspicion that 'this' was exactly what she'd been intending to let him wander into in the first place.

"Good" she gave his chest a push. "Go."

His eyes narrowed and he was about to - he wasn't sure what. Hog tie her and bury her in a bush somewhere until this was over. But the medieval fair rejects apparently chose that moment to decide that the best plan when it came to the unknown factor was to violently subdue it and deal with the questions on their home turf because two of them closed on Sanderson and the blows started falling.

Sanderson of course, had been trained not to be subdued. But he was outnumbered by people with very big knives. Hoot shot that tall woman one last hard look and than disappeared into the surrounding forest.

The disappearance of his weight, which I couldn't have gotten off me fast enough, still left me missing it. And I was angry at myself that it felt that way. Instead of thinking about it, I turned my attention on Helen.

"I want you to start back for the village. When you get there tell them the Achaians are searching for us again. I want everyone moving to our next spot before I get back."

We were so used to being on the run, sometimes with little to no warning, that we had carefully prearranged spots picked out that we could all gather at afterward. The risk of that was having one of our own fall to the Greeks and have the location tortured out of them but the balance to that was that it kept us from becoming an even more scattered people than we already were and it kept more of us from falling prey to roving Greeks while we tried to find each other. Helen gave me a terrified look.

"But what will you do?" she asked and I looked blankly at her.

"What I said I would. Now go. I haven't got much time and I want you well away before I call them over. Run!"

Her eyes found me but she responded to the urgency in my voice and, terror at her heels, sprinted deeper into the woods. I just hoped she didn't stop part of the way back and, driven by guilt over duty to her adopted people or common sense, decide she couldn't 'abandon' me.

'Hoot' still had my knife. I thought he would need it more than me. I hoped to do this in such a way that no one got close enough to me that a knife would be needed.

I gave it a minute more, watched the strange man dressed like 'hoot' fall to his knees and than I stepped around the tree and screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

Two times in one day. It was setting a precedence I wasn't fond of.

But it served. The soldiers' heads came around though the ones closest to the stranger were too well trained to let their attention slip from him. I raised my hand to my mouth as if I had just, unintelligently and inexplicably, been taking a causal stroll out into the clearing and only just noticed them. And I stood where I was as if my shock and terror had rooted me to the spot. It was - horribly overdramatic and I felt a bit stupid doing it but still…

And than they recognized me.

"That's Princess Andromache! Neoptolemeus wants her!"

My eyes really did widen in horror when I heard that. Pyrrhus Neoptolemeus, the butcher's son! And reportedly crueler than his infamous father. It was all I could do not to bolt right than at the sheer thought of myself falling into that beast's hands.

The soldiers broke apart. Several of them started slowly toward me while several more remained with the beaten prisoner. And I was not stupid. I did see the two that slipped away from the others and into the trees on the side of the clearing. They would be circling around faster than the ones I could see, intent on cutting me off when the unstartling motions of the men in front of me finally registered to my 'weak female' mind and I decided to try to escape. I had to time this right. Too soon and they might only send one or two of the men after me, deciding the prisoner in hand was more important than one they couldn't be sure of. Too long in my hesitation and the ones coming on the sides really would have me before I could escape. Pretending mindless panic, I started to slowly back away, hands raised, head shaking. And I saw the beasts approaching me smile.

As they had smiled when they threw my little brothers from the walls and dragged my sisters away into servitude. As they had when they had burned my father's kingdom and as they had when they had burned my husband's. And for a moment I did feel helpless. They had brought down mighty Troy. They were like a plague and nothing in the world was safe or proof against them. How long did I really think I had left before they took what little I had left in this world to love away from me who had already taken so much? It was not fair that men like this conquered and the good ones were only left as cooling ashes.

"Come along, princess" one of the men coaxed. And I wondered if he had a wife and children somewhere. "We have orders not to hurt you."

"Rot in Tartarus, you son of a lonely goat herder!" I spat. And than I turned and ran.

I was angry again and it made it easy to ignore the way my feet, already abused, protested the uncareful path I picked for them deeper into the trees. I wished I was a man. I wished I could face them with a sword and feel their blood spill hot across my feet. How dare they, who had done so much wrong already, still hunt down a tired and abused people? Agamemnon was dead. Even we had heard of his own wife's treachery. And yet still the Achaians left behind refused to go home. They had broken and crushed Troy and still they were not content. I had not hated them from the protective walls of Troy the way I had learned to hate them in these last two years.

I am a fast runner. I grew up with seven brothers and for once my undelicate height worked to my advantage. I have very long legs.

The men behind me were in heavy armour. I could hear the noise of it startlingly loud as they labored uphill after me. I had already been this way once and I knew the easy path. My son was waiting for me to return home and nothing was going to keep me from that. For all my dark thoughts about letting things end, of finally being able to join my husband in the Elysian Fields, now that I was confronted with it I could not bear the thought of abandoning my son. So I was careful as I ran to keep my skirt clear of entanglements and to watch where I placed my feet so I would not fall. I made no effort whatsoever to slow my steps. I had done my part. I would not lose myself to barbarians because I thought 'hoot' needed more time than what I had already given him in my distraction.

Hoot straightened up from dropping the body of the last guard and offered a hand to help haul Sanderson to his feet.

"Damn, you look like shit" he told Jeff affectionately and Jeff rubbed at his jaw and replied with a: "Took you long enough."

It was the male equivalent of an enthusiastic hug.

Hoot grinned.

"Come on, man. We've still got those goons that went into the woods to take care of."

"After the screaming girl?" Jeff asked, falling into a trot next to him despite the beating, and subsequent returned favor of that beating, he'd just applied. Hoot nodded.

"Yeah" he answered. "She does that a lot."

One of Jeff's eyebrows lifted. "Don't want to know, do I?"

"Nah" Hoot agreed. He'd liked her knife. It was one of those all purpose kinds it made sense for a woman to have on her and it had been perfectly balanced and comfortable in his hand. Which was saying something considering most knife hilts disappeared into his large palms. He'd scooped up a sword just like Sanderson had from the dead guards but he kept the knife out because he was more comfortable with it.

"Thought I'd woken up on the bad side of a prank. Now I'm stuck thinking I've woken up on the bad side of a medieval fair" Jeff commented and Hoot shook his head.

"Don't look at me, man. Near as I can tell they're all crazy around here."

And that was the end of that. Because they'd gotten to about the point it was time to start hunting again.

Hoot had no idea in hell what was going on. Girls in fluffy dresses he could kind of get over. But guys swinging swords with every intention of using them… that was something else entirely. Nobody in their right mind used swords anymore. Even the poorest nation in Africa could still get their hands on way too many AK47s and other scary post cold war assortment weapons. And the tin cans those goons had been wearing would haven't stopped even a .22. He had the sinking feeling there was a good explanation for all of it. And that he wasn't going to like whatever it was. But that was for later. This was now.

And right now there were six more men to hunt down and put down whatever way it took. And than there was a tall, slim woman who didn't know what 'no' meant to find.

I ran and I was pleased with myself. Living in Troy I could never have held this pace for this long but I had not even gotten a stitch in my side yet. Of course, that did not mean I could keep it up forever. And honestly, I could not keep going in the direction I was either because that would be back toward my people and I would not lead anyone there. My pursuers had tapered off for the sounds of crashing behind me though I knew they were still there. I could not angle off to the side because I might inadvertently stumble into one of them again but I could not keep going forward forever either. Uphill meant it was taking its toll on the Greeks but it was also starting to cost me.

And my feet were on fire.

I kept up my pace but started paying attention to my surroundings as well. The floor here was carpeted with pine needles which left no footprints for me to worry about. I might be able to find a bush to hide in but if they found me there - starting off at the same point - I was not sure I could outrun the soldiers behind me. Finally, just as that cramp I had been so proud to have avoided, showed up, I spotted a low branch. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed no one though I could still hear them and, whispering a silent prayer to Artemis, and who knew if she cared for us any more than her fickle brother, I hauled myself up onto it. The rough bark scraped my hands and arms but I hardly noticed. I had grown up with brothers and been a bit of a wild child as a little girl because of it. My bursts of rebellion against the delicate feminine norm had delighted my husband. This was not the first time I had climbed a tree as an adult. Careful of the branches I put my weight on I worked my way higher into the tree. It was one tree amoung thousands and my dark clothes would not stand out dramatically. They would have to be looking up to spot me and no one ran looking always up. I did not put it past luck to side with my enemy but I thought my odds were good and even if they did find me, no man would be able to follow me as high as I could climb with my lesser weight.

The problem would come if they did spot me and than decided to cut the tree down. It was not a cheering thought to have springing to mind as I heard the first of my pursuers approaching my hiding place.

I stood very still, barely daring to breath as he slowly passed by my hiding place. I did not know how many had followed me into the woods and it occurred to me as he slowly moved on that they were already looking for me instead of just charging blindly ahead. I had turned to the side in the final leg of my sprint and so if they followed the straight route I had begun, they would never come near me. But if they split off to form a net to sweep the forest and entrap me…

And who would want to return to their lord and tell him that I had been in their hands and slipped away? Perhaps they would blame it on a god but I was not aware of the butcher's son being particularly religious.

I might be up my tree for a very long time, I realized.

Listening carefully, I waited until I was sure I was alone and than slowly, and as silently as possible, I lowered myself onto the branch so I could sit. I had sap and small scrapes on my hands and legs from the climb and my feet throbbed abominably. I was thirsty and now that the fear and anger of the past hour or more was draining away I was very tired and felt a bit like crying.

To think that I had intended to spend today peacefully with the precious memory of my husband -


	7. Chapter 7

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

I shut my eyes and rested my cheek against the rough bark of the tree, wrapping my arms around it for comfort as much as stability. I wanted to go home. I wanted to hold my son. And I wanted to forget today had ever happened. Maybe it was time for our people to try to find a real home again. I was so tired of running.

There was a quiet noise off to the side and I opened my eyes to look but I saw nothing. The forest that had grown silent in my passage started to renew its muted song. Time passed and I rested where I was. I would not be home before dark. I would miss tucking my son into his bed and I was always home for that ritual. I let out a silent sigh and shut my eyes again. Not enjoying the thought of the long walk home over rough ground. Telling myself sternly I didn't care if 'hoot' and his friend were all right or not. 'Hoot' had wanted to go to Troy. All I had done was bring him this far. I was not guilty of anything, I told myself firmly. He was a mystery and no doubt god touched and it was much better to be rid of him. Besides, he had found another one of his people. Surely there were more about and he could go home with them. I certainly did not care and I certainly was not worried about him up against hardened armoured soldiers with nothing more than my work knife.

Hector had always laughed at me when I'd lied to myself before.

If anything I should be worrying over Helen. Because there was no guarantee she would do as I had told her and, coming back into the situation without knowing it, she could easily walk into a hunting Greek. Not that they would hurt her. I did not know a man in the world that would hurt Helen, though women were a different and altogether much more dangerous story entirely. No, they would simply take her back to their camp. And Paris would go after her. And I would not be able to let him go alone and so I would send the men that we had left with him. And people would die. I did not mind the Greeks that would die so much but I very much minded losing any of my people after all we had already lost.

Neoptolmeus was down in the Greek camp. The thought made me shudder in the approaching darkness of night. I had seen him briefly from a distance as Troy had been burning. He looked very much like his father, the monster. But I had never known even his father to laugh while killing helpless women and children. Rumour said he worked very hard to distinguish himself from his father's shadow. And that the routes he took to do so were even worse than his desecrating father.

Something told me he wanted me, not for my value as a ruler of Troy, but because I was my husband's widow. And all that was left of my Hector to desecrate was his memory. How he might be planning on doing that using me scared and nauseated me ever so much more than if he had just been after me as a bed slave.

I was tired, I was hurt, I was emotionally drained, sick with guilt, and more than a little scared for the future. I wanted a hot bath, I wanted a soft bed. And I wanted my son. More than anything I wanted my son right now.

Oh, my husband, how you would weep if you could see your wife now…

"Ssst, lady."

Startled out of the half doze I had fallen into, my arms tightened around the tree and I looked down. There was a voice under my tree. I hadn't heard anyone approach.

'Hoot' was looking back up at me, face a pale oval in the fallen darkness of the forest night.

"What are you doing here?" It was a stupid question and a stupid thing to waste time asking but it came out of my mouth before I thought about it. He shook his head and raised one of his hands.

"Playing fireman. Come down out of that tree."

The hand looked dark in the filtered moonlight but I had been my husband's wife long enough to know why. Blood.

"Where are the soldiers?" I asked, not moving from my perch.

"I swear to God, I'm going to come up there and get you myself, darlin' if you don't come down out of that tree right now."

I gave him a narrow glare even as tired as I was. And did not doubt for a second that he would do so. Absently a part of my mind that never knew when to shut up wondered which god he swore to. Painfully and slowly I started my way down. My muscles had shortened and hardened while I had been in my awkward position and my calves protested the exercise I put them to now. I would pay for this 'adventure' tomorrow I knew. At the last branch I started to wrap my watery feeling arms around the branch to lower myself down, hoping they held me for that long and I did not end up on my rump instead. That would be embarrassing but more it would be painful. Hands wrapped around my waist though - I knew that touch - and I found myself lifted down. Expecting to be set on my feet and anticipating the pain the sudden weight would bring back to their numb surface, it took me a moment to realize that I was not being placed on the ground but instead I was being shifted to rest in 'hoot's' arms. He smelled like sweat and blood and forest floor and for a minute as my head rested naturally on his shoulder that was enough.

But he felt too comfortable and too safe and I was the worst of women to find myself actually enjoying that sensation.

"Put me down" I managed weakly. And than, because it was important I added: "Please."

He made an unconscious noise. As if I had just sent a spear home into his gut. But his arms tightened on me. As if I had the strength, emotionally or physically, to fight him.

"Who am I?" he asked and obediently, without thought, like a little child I answered:

"Hoot."

He cleared his throat.

"Than I'm carryin' you" he answered, voice low and gruff. I heard someone silently approaching and I did not open my eyes. Too tired and drained to fight fate right now.

"Got 'em?" I heard 'hoot' ask and a voice I did not recognize answered:

"Post toasty."

"Right than" 'hoot's' voice. "New plan. We don't go to Troy."

Jeff raised his eyebrow at Hoot.

"We were going to Troy?" he asked calmly. That laconic approach made Hoot smile.

"Not anymore. You have any idea where we are, man?"

"Not a clue" Jeff answered just as calmly as they started a covered retreat up the mountain, wary of anyone that might have showed up since they'd finished off the group they'd run into. "Last I remember we were getting ourselves smashed because it was your birthday."

"Oh yeah, I'm gettin' old" Hoot remembered belatedly. He didn't get drunk often. Not with his lifestyle. But last night had certainly called for it. Jeff who was several years older just chuckled. Hoot shook his head, glancing down at the woman that seemed to be dozing in his arms. Her head was resting in the hollow of his shoulder and, while her arms weren't around him, one of her long, slim hands was curled against his chest. He got the impression that she was still aware of what was going on but not about to start contributing.

Acutely aware of the surrounding area as they moved, Hoot filled his friend in on what little he knew.

"Woke up in a horse field. Lady here said the nearest town was Troy. Mentioned Hellespont so I figure we're in Turkey. Troy's a cruise ship tourist stop on the coast as near as I can remember. Haven't heard a single plane or vehicle. All the girls I've seen so far are dressed like this one and your friends back in the field are the only men I've seen. Can't help but notice that even though they've never heard of jeans before we're understanding each other perfectly. And I don't speak Turkish or Greek or whatever the hell they speak in Turkey."

"I don't know what a 'fon', 'bun ducks', or where the 'shit creek' you keep mumbling about is either" the woman in his arms volunteered softly, eyes still closed, and he realized she was teasing him. He cradled her a bit closer against him.

"Yeah" he answered her softly. "I'm full of fun phrases."

"You do mention 'Shit Crik' a lot" Jeff agreed. Hoot gave him a wry look and than there was a pause as they moved through the trees. After a minute, Jeff calmly asked:

"So how come I get the nuts with swords and you obviously get multiple women in flowing dresses?"

Hoot started to laugh. Not loud but it started out sounding like a cough and just kept going. God - he needed that.

Hector's laugh had always been full and rich. Unguarded and unrestrained. I had loved listening to the sound of my husband laughing. But more… I had loved it when he had held me against his chest while he had been laughing. So that I could feel his joy as well as hear it.

'Hoot' did not laugh as my Hector had. His was quiet. Muted and low. As if he did not laugh often or was used to doing it so others would not hear. Like his smile. They spoke of shadows. But shadows were real too and as he held me as he laughed something inside my chest shivered and I kept my eyes very tightly shut. To feel his joy, even if it was joy caused by being alive and having something to relieve the tension, moving through my own body.

I wanted him gone. I wanted him gone more than I wanted my next breath. Because - I liked him. He had proved himself good and gentle. We both knew I had intended to turn him over to the soldiers that had abused his friend and yet he carried me to spare my feet. He had gone to his friend's defense against better armed men even though he was outnumbered. And - he made me feel good. Deep inside where I ached so. I thought - if he had been anyone else in the world - I would have wanted his friendship. But he was not anyone else in the world. He was a man that looked like my husband and made my body feel comfortable and safe. I had not felt safe since my Hector's body had been dragged away from the city walls in front of me. But now, held by a stranger, feeling his laughter in my own body - I felt as if I could sleep. Truly sleep with no fear of night noises or Achaian soldiers or traitors in the dark coming for my son. And I should not feel that way. I betrayed my husband to feel that way. And that thought made my throat tight and brought the tears to sting behind my tightly closed eyelids. I was so weak that I let this man, half my husband, half foreign and strange, make me feel… make me feel the way no man alive had any right to make me feel. The fault was entirely mine and even through my closed lids, the tears managed to fall.

All I had left of my husband was the way I loved him. And I betrayed that with every second I did not fight my way out of this stranger's arms. For still, I could not bring myself to fight him the way I should.

He shifted me, raising me so I sat more upright in his arms and, unforgivable woman that I am, I pressed my face into his throat and cried. Silently, with hardly any movement, tired and weak and wretched in my betrayal, I cried against him.


	8. Chapter 8

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

Hoot held her while she cried and shot Jeff a look that shot down any questions. The other Delta just nodded.

They walked quite a while and the woman in his arms cried herself out. But her hands clawed in his shirt didn't relax as she finally started the shudders that indicated the closing of a good cry. Hoot just held her, occasional resting his cheek against the top of her head. For all she was so quiet about it, she cried like her heart was breaking apart in her chest. Or like it already had and no matter how many tears she cried it was never enough to start healing.

He was starting to wonder where he was going to go next because he'd almost retraced their entire route and once he hit the horses he had no idea which direction to turn off in. But just before they reached the first field a man stepped out from behind one of the larger rocks. Jeff moved automatically to stand in front of his friend and the woman he carried, sword in hand and Hoot did a quick recon of the area. Looking for others, looking for a safe spot to set his charge, looking for a good place to shift them all to. The man in front of them raised a hand, though his other stayed on the hilt of a sheathed sword. Did no one in this country have guns? And the blond girl from before stepped out next to him.

"We were going to come looking for you" she said. She gave Sanderson a worried look and than looked past him to Hoot and her eyes went wide. "Oh" she exclaimed. "Is she - ?"

"Tired" Hoot answered. "And her feet are hurt." Jeff shot him a look that indicated since Hoot obviously had a bit more of an idea what was going on it was up to him to deal with things. Which was never a good idea considering Jeff was the more diplomatic of the two the same way the desert was only a little dry compared to the ocean but the blond girl nodded eagerly.

"We have a temporary camp near here. Follow me. I'll show you."

Hoot shot the weird armoured guy a look but given his options, fell in step behind the young girl. The soldier stayed behind and he soon found he and Sanderson being led into a winding rock fall that was the perfect place for an ambush. Strangely, he felt more uncomfortable now than he had when the woman in his arms had been leading him into what he'd been sure was an ambush.

"One of your girls?" Jeff murmured as he walked at his shoulder and Hoot nodded.

"Yeah" he agreed. "She doesn't scream though."

Jeff grunted and fell back into his watchful scan of the area. And than they were through and she was leading him up a small trail and they were coming into a hidden hollow in the mountain that held a small section of tents and lean-tos. And he thought it just as Jeff murmured it. Because they'd both seen more than their fair share.

"Refugee camp."

There was no mistaking one. They were, at their core, exactly the same all over the world. And given what he knew, Hoot could guess who'd driven these people to this place.

The second woman he'd seen who'd stayed behind stepped out from the interior of one of the more solid looking lean-tos and approached. Hoot didn't miss the way her eyes took in the fact he was carrying her friend.

"I thought you'd be back" she said, coming over. Another woman was at her side and glaring fiercely at him. So he ignored the second woman. The blond hovered uncertainly to the side now that her duty was done. "We'll take her" the first woman said.

Hoot shook his head and his grip on the woman in his arms shifted slightly.

"No" he answered calmly. "I've got her. Just tell me where to put her to bed. Someone needs to look at her feet too."

The scowling woman started to hiss something but the first one nodded. He had enough sisters he recognized 'scheme' in a woman's eyes almost instinctively but as long as it got him what he wanted he could deal with it.

"Come with me" the woman said and Hoot followed her back into the lean-to, Jeff close behind. Covering his back. Just like always.

The interior of the shed was dark with only a single oil light gleaming in a corner where it couldn't be seen from outside. It was so new that the grass was still fresh under his boots. There was a cot in the corner of some kind and it was piled with blankets and pillows. And a small little boy. Sound asleep and sprawled out to take up as much of the small bed as his little arms and legs could reach.

"Astyanax. Her son. Our king in waiting" the shorter woman offered and the scowling one hissed angrily at her.

"It's none of his business."

The first woman shrugged and the scowling one moved swiftly to scoop up the sleeping boy and back away from the two men that had entered. Hoot shot her a dark look. He put up with a lot of shit. He'd done a lot of shit. But no matter what he'd done, he didn't deserve to be treated as if he'd hurt a little kid.

Gentle he settled his sleeping charge into her bed and she sighed out quietly against him. He shut his eyes for a minute, arms still around her as he paused, leaning over her. So far up his creek he'd found a tributary, he thought. Than he pulled one of the blankets gently over her and stepped back. The scowler immediately stepped forward to place the sleeping boy on the bed and his mother reached for him even in her sleep, drawing the little bundle of arms and legs and curly hair close to her. The baby responded by snuggling even closer. Hoot realized Jeff was watching him and shot him a look to which Jeff simply responded to with a raised eyebrow. Hoot tilted his head and they went outside. The shorter woman he'd seen followed them while the scowler stayed inside. The blond was gone.

"What happened?" she asked and Hoot shrugged.

"Found my friend, met some nasty guys in tin pie plates and came back."

She nodded.

"The Greeks have never stopped hunting us."

Sanderson sat down on a nearby log pile and stated calmly:

"Pretend I have no idea what you're talking about."

Hoot crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned back against the corner of the lean-to.

"All right" she started cautiously. Pausing a moment to decide where to start. "Troy has always controlled this part of the Aegean Sea. All the trade that comes from the Sea of Marmara and beyond comes through Troy first. We were a wealthy nation. But the Achaian nations recently came under the control of the House of Atreus under King Agamemnon of Mycenae. The Greeks grew powerful and they have always resented Troy's control over their trade from the north. Two of our princes went to the powerful nation of Sparta to solidify a treaty with them and Prince Paris fell in love with the queen of that nation."

Jeff, who for a while now had been resting his fingers against his forehead, without looking up, commented: "Let me guess. Her name was Helen."

"Yes" the woman answered. Not appearing surprised that any man would know the woman's name. Jeff started to shake his head.

"Let me skip ahead in the story and guess there was a guy named Achilles and Odysseus on the other side and they got into your city inside a wooden horse."

"You're fucking me" Hoot drawled.

The woman looked insulted.

"I am not" she sounded confused about the phrasing but sure she was not, in fact, 'fucking' him.

"Troy. That Troy. Wooden horse, shit like that Troy?" Hoot asked. Sure, he hadn't paid much attention in English class but hell, his littlest sister had dragged him off to some Brad Pitt movie a couple years back against his better judgment. All about star crossed lovers and Homeric heroes and way too many shots of a naked Pitt for him to have been entirely comfortable. He'd slept through most of it. He didn't like war movies. He got enough of that in real life.

Jeff was laughing. It wasn't exactly a happy sound.

"We've either stumbled into the most ridiculous historic reenactment I've ever run across or one of us is passed out cold and drunk and having this hallucination. And man, I hope it's you" he told Hoot.

"If I'm dreamin'" Hoot told him, "You'd sure as hell better get around to waking me up soon."

"You know the story?" Jeff asked and Hoot shrugged.

"I picked the Odyssey in high school English Lit" he drawled. "Only know what I've picked up here and there and I slept through that movie that came out a few years ago." Jeff grunted.

"I remember. Brad Pitt. Wildly inaccurate historically." Hoot just shrugged in response.

"So this is your dream than" he clarified. "'Cause I don't remember squat. So why the hell'd you have to drag me into it?"

"Fuck off" Jeff told him calmly and Hoot snorted out an exhale. Because they were both trying to assimilate what was going on, and when was going on apparently, the best way they could. Which meant a lot of joking to relieve the tension. The woman in front of them was looking confused. It was quiet for a moment.

"How long has it been since Troy fell?" Jeff finally asked and the woman looked almost relieved to have a question she could answer.

"Almost two years" she answered. "Today it has been two years since we lost Hector."

"Tamer of horses" Jeff supplied and it was Hoot's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"That's that woman's husband" he jerked his head toward the lean-to they'd just left. "That's who they keep thinkin' I look like." Jeff's eyebrow twitched upward again and he shot Hoot a look, trying not to smile.

"You? Look like Hector?"

Hoot shot him the bird.

"How the hell should I know? It's what everyone keeps callin' me."

"Do I look like anyone?" Jeff asked the woman in front of them curiously and she hesitantly shook her head as if she wasn't sure how the answer would be taken.

"Damn" Jeff chuckled and looked back at Hoot. "So, Hector, huh?"

"You're just jealous" Hoot snorted.

"Sure" Jeff agreed. "I'm jealous one of us got something slipped into his drink and is having a weird dream about a bad movie."

It was quiet between them for a while than. Both thinking about what they were going to do until they woke up or their buddies jumped out from behind rocks and revealed they'd gone through a ridiculous amount of effort and somehow hired way too many people to pull off a prank that didn't make a lot of sense when you thought about it. Finally Hoot straightened up.

"Ya'll got some food you might want to share and maybe a place I can wash up?" he asked.

I woke in the dead of the night. I was comfortable and my son's breath was a sweet whisper against my skin where he'd snuggled close. For a time I lay there, enjoying the peace. Waiting for my husband to come back to bed with us…

And than I remembered.

It was not so very painful. My body had gotten used to reaching for my husband in my sleep and not finding him. The ache was familiar and almost strangely comforting in its familiarity. And yet I should have felt that ache even as I woke. I had come to expect to find my husband's presence absent when I woke.

Without moving, I opened my eyes. Saw the familiar interior of my small home. The only light was from the moon but in its shadows my eyes slowly adjusted. Padme was asleep in the camp chair, back against one of the walls, unsheathed sword across her lap though her hands had fallen to her sides and hung limply away from the over dramatic threat she had taken to sleeping with since we had fled Troy. As my gaze moved I realized someone else was sleeping in here with us. An obviously male form was stretched out on the floor, rolled in a blanket near the doorway and I wondered at it. Sometimes one of the Apollonian would sleep with us to keep us safe in case of a sudden raid. Just as I thought that the figure on the floor stirred and a second later, the hide covering the doorway was silently pushed aside and I watched a tall silhouette block out the weak moonlight before the 'door' dropped back in place. My mind, still tired and hazy with sleep, did not tell me to be alarmed and so I watched in mild curiosity as the figure from the door knelt next to the one that was sitting up on the floor and after a whispered conversation of almost silent male voices, the two figures traded places. The one that had been sleeping went outside silently and the other figure sat down in the blankets and started to rearrange them.

My mind finally kicked up a name and I whispered it in the dark:

"hoot?"

The figure's face turned toward me as he settled down in the blanket but in the dark I could see very little. But I recognized the slow, low voice when he answered softly:

"Go back to sleep, darlin'. Everything's secure."

I exhaled a quiet sigh and tucked closer around my son. Too tired to argue with him or the feeling of safety that wrapped about the hut. Closing my eyes, I slept.


	9. Chapter 9

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

Astyanax woke me the next morning and I smiled to see his round little face. He grinned back and patted my cheek as I propped myself up on an elbow over him. My boy, my beautiful little boy.

"What are we going to do today?" I asked him and he enthusiastically answered: "Play!" Which was, after all his standard answer to the question. I laughed.

"What a smart boy" I agreed and slowly sat up, pushing my hair back from my face. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and the sudden rush of blood to them reminded me of everything about yesterday.

My son put both his hands on my leg and looked up at me, worry in his eyes and I shook my head as my body adjusted to the unexpected pain.

"It's all right, baby" I told him, stroking his hair. "Mommy hurt her feet yesterday because she forgot her shoes." I looked around the room and found it empty. And - that left something hollow in my chest that I pretended was not there. Astyanax stood up, wobbling, and put his arms around my shoulders from behind me and I made a soft noise.

"You're right, my little man" I called him what his father always had. "It's just us now." Steady inside again I stood up despite the pain to my feet which I noted someone had rewrapped. I scooped my son up with an arm behind me so that he rested against my back, his round burbling laughter sounding over my shoulder at me, little arms trusting around my shoulders.

Together we stepped out into the early morning light.

I told myself that I only looked for him to be sure he was gone. But, as busy as the camp was, I saw no one out of place. No strangers in short hair wearing clothes to flaunt their bodies. Relieved I exhaled. Feeling alone and empty once again. As they had come so they had gone. And I was safe again.

Hector's widow...

And than Padme stomped over to me.

"You will tell him to stop" she snapped.

Curious, I bounced my son a bit on my back. Than I squinted at the rising sun that had not yet cleared the rocky heights that surrounded us. Finally I looked around the camp again.

"Who am I stopping?" I finally asked looking back at her mildly. She shot me a glare, knowing I was not taking her demand as seriously as I should.

"That - man!" she clarified. "You will tell him to stop watching us!"

"Ah" I said, entirely unenlightened. Wondering if one of the more suicidal of our young warriors had decided to try his hand at winning my friend's affections. Again. "Someone's bothering you?"

"Not just me. Everyone! He is everywhere! You will tell him to stop."

I was not an unintelligent woman. I never have been. And I have always tried to face things as they truly were. But for once my mind would not give me an answer to the source of Padme's anger.

"Why don't you just tell him to leave you alone?" I asked as Astyanax began to become too heavy and I leaned over so he could clamber his way off my back and to his own feet. There were very few men that could stand up to Padme's scorn.

She crossed her arms and muttered something.

"What?" I asked as I took my son's hand as he began to tug me toward the side of the camp.

"I said" her words were sharp and well enunciated. "That he will not listen to me."

It was a very good reason to pause in what I was doing to blink at her. She scowled back at me, daring me to comment on her sudden lose of gorgon like power. I pressed my lips together. Astyanax paused in pulling at my hand to look at both of us. Padme pulled herself into the type of royal attitude I could never in a thousand lifetimes have managed myself and regally stated:

"You must send him away."

"Send who away?"

The voice came near my shoulder and I knew it. I told myself it was not so but a part of me had been waiting to hear it since I had woken.

And - gods curse me - I was glad to hear it.

"Hoot." I said his name quietly and half turned to see him lowering himself into a squat to put himself level with my son who was clinging to my legs and looking with wide eyes at the huge man in front of him.

"Hey, shorty" he greeted Astyanax and offered his hand, palm out. Astyanax considered the wide palm and I considered the top of the stranger's dark head. His hair was wet and I wondered exactly what he had been up to.

"You have been bothering Padme?" I asked him and without looking up he answered:

"My breathin' seems to bother Podmay, so yeah, I guess I have been."

Astyanax extended his own tiny hand and gently touched 'hoot's' palm. I blamed myself. Because of my aversion to men in my life I had kept most of them at arms length. I still cared for them and the brothers I had inherited from Hector were very dear to me but I did not like being touched. And perhaps in being that way I had also kept my son from the amounts of male interaction he would have had had life never changed from those golden days in Troy. 'Hoot' kept his hand steady and after a moment, Astyanax patted it more confidently. And than my son laughed and let go of me to step forward and slap both hands cheerfully against 'hoot's' single palm. And I watched them both smile.

I found I could not breath around the breaking in my heart.

"He has been watching us" Padme interrupted, voice disapproving.

"Yep" 'hoot' agreed calmly, smile filling him again for a moment as he closed his fingers and Astyanax managed to escape the 'trap' and than offered his own tiny hands again as 'hoot's' long fingers reopened.

"He will know our secrets" Padme clarified and again 'hoot' nodded as again, Astyanax managed to jerk his hands away with round laughter from 'hoot's' larger, closing fingers.

"Yep" 'hoot' agreed again. "I know all about your secrets. Like grinding grain and how you make your bread and who gets stuck fetchin' the water in the mornin'."

"You also watched our men train" Padme's eyes were narrow. "You and your friend."

Our soldiers did train. Each morning and again in the evening. The older ones teaching those just coming into their strength. Oreas had been a retired Apollonian and he was the best. He had made it a point to keep what fighting men we did have at their peak condition.

"It is all right" I told Padme calmingly. "They already own our most important secret, the one that holds where we are. Nothing else they learn can bring us harm."

My friend caught my arm and dragged me to the side. My son, enraptured in his game of avoidance with 'hoot' did not notice but his play partner raised dark eyes and watched us.

"He touched you" Padme hissed, bringing her cheek close to mine so that she could hiss it in my ear. Feeling suddenly tired, I exhaled.

"Yes" I agreed, voice inflectionless. "He carried me home."

"He should not be touching you" she insisted.

"Do you remember when my husband fell and Paris had to carry me from the wall?" I asked.

"It is not the same" she stated stubbornly. And I did not have to see her eyes to know they narrowed viciously. "It is what is on his face when he touches you."

I could not help it. My eyes shifted to 'hoot' and I saw he was still watching us. Or rather - me. For his eyes met mine when I looked over and for a moment their dark depth, so much more shadowed and secretive than my husband's, held mine. Than they released me and he was looking back down at my son who was now trying to wrestle 'hoot's' closed hand open. I found my breathing had gone shallow and I swallowed as I looked back at Padme.

"You are imagining things" I told her and she gave me a look that indicated just how weak my lie had sounded.

"Prince Paris went hunting yesterday. What will you tell him when he comes back?" she asked. I shrugged. Much more comfortable dealing with someone else's response to this 'hoot' who had not melted away with the sun's rising as he should have.

"I am sure Helen will be waiting to tell him first" I answered with the mild calmness that always infuriated Padme. "If he needs me to tell him anything, I will tell him only what I know."

"Which is?" Sometimes she was too demanding. Though she had been first my slave, than my servant, and now simply my friend for almost more years than I could remember, Padme had never quite understood that she was not the one in charge at any given moment of any given day. I had not noticed it when Hector had been alive. But I sometimes resented the way she refused to take my answers now.

"Which is whatever I choose to say" I answered flatly and gave her a look. She scowled back but I had become prone to intractability in these two years with no one to make decisions but myself. She was coming to recognize the signs of it.

"Fine" she threw up her hands. "But my advice is to cast them out and send them on their way. No good can come of them. They do not belong here."

Hoot was chuckling. The little boy in front of him had an expressive face. It reminded him of the boy's mother. And right now that little round face was full of serious concentration and determination as the little guy attempted to wrestle Hoot's longer fingers into submission.

Hoot had nephews. He missed being able to play with them. With his job they went from drooling baby to teenager overnight and he missed out on really getting to be there. That was why he was an uncle only and never a dad. What kind of way was that to raise a kid?

The scowling woman, Podmay, really was pissed off at him. Jeff had gotten the side of her tongue too but she seemed to reserve the worst of it for him. He got the distinct impression that if she was in charge she would have strapped him to a log pile and burned him at the stake. Just for the hell of it.

The tall woman from yesterday - and he was really going to have to learn to say her name so he could stop thinking of her that way - was riding out the complaints as if she did this every day. For the sounds of it, she probably did. The scowler seemed the type to have strong opinions on almost everything.

"I will keep that in mind" the taller woman stated calmly and the scowler gave a snort of exasperation and shot him a vengeful glare before stomping off. But not too far, Hoot noticed. He wasn't, apparently, to be left alone with the woman in front of him again.

And he wanted her alone. He liked who she turned into when she was alone.

Even the quickly flaring sparks of fury.

He had both his hands open now and the little boy was pressing down on them with his own tiny hands as hard as he could. Burbling his laughter quietly to himself. Kid was apparently used to being self entertaining. Hoot lifted his eyes again and found the mother watching him, sad eyes thoughtful. His lips shifted upward briefly. The little boy grunted with his effort.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked mildly.

Breakfast? It hadn't been the question I'd been expecting and it took me a minute to reorder my thoughts to answer before I shook my head. I'd just woken but - I was bad at remembering to eat anyway. It seemed - unimportant now that Hector was gone. A great deal seemed unimportant now that Hector was gone...

"I know where there's some warm bread" he offered, eyes laughing at their corners. One of our 'secrets' he'd discovered. The edges of my own lips responded. Barely shifting upward but it still felt unfamiliar. Outside of my son, I was not used to smiling anymore.

"Come on" he finally let Astyanax win the battle, hands dropping to the ground under my son's insistence. My little boy crowed his triumph and than surprised me by reaching up to pat 'hoot's' cheek with a brilliant grin. And I watched the strange man's entire face soften. Than he stood up, a long, lean unwinding of legs. Ruffled my son's curly hair. "You too, shorty" he agreed.

And my heart continued its breaking.

Gentle I scooped my son up in my arms. It should be my husband seeing our little boy's delighted smile. My husband playing with him first thing in the morning before duty called him away from us. My husband... I pressed my cheek against my son's soft, round cheek and shut my eyes. Feeling those little arms winding around my neck. Wishing hopelessly...

A hand touched the small of my back. Large and I felt the warmth of it through the fabric of my woolen dress.

"Come on" 'hoot's' voice again. Softer now. "Its not far to walk at all."

And while I should have protested his touch, instead I found myself docily letting him guide me.


	10. Chapter 10

_Authors Note: Written by TamLin and proofread by Iresol._

"So you get that she doesn't even ask us where we're from or how we got here or anything?" It was late in the afternoon and Hoot was making fishing hooks out of sharpened pieces of wood. Something he hadn't done since childhood. Jeff had climbed to the top of one of the rocky outcroppings and was - well, snooping. It was what Jeff did and he was damn good at it.

"Probably just as well" Jeff's voice answered mildly as his boots made soft sounds on the rocks. "What the hell would we tell her?"

Hoot shrugged.

He was sitting on the bank of a stream and he'd rolled his pants up and taken off his socks and boots to stick his feet in the cool water. It felt lazy and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it but he was at a bit of a loss at to what kind of mission plan he should be coming up with instead. 'Gee, man. I'm trapped in the past. Does this count as leave time?' He and Jeff had already talked about how they might have gotten here and, to men like them, why and the only answer either one of them could come up with at this point was 'fucked if I know!'. Which, granted, wasn't much of an answer but, surprisingly, wasn't the first time they'd used it either. Still, if their job required anything it was puzzle solving skills and patience was a part of that. Something would turn up eventually. It always did.

In the meantime, it was still taking some getting used to to wrap their heads around the fact they really weren't going to wake up out of this in a bar in Madrid anytime soon.

Hoot had already tried the whole pinching himself thing.

It really wasn't possible they really were where they thought they were. But until they figured out where they really were, they had to go with what was in front of them. Luckily, in their line of work, rolling with the punches was ingrained.

"I don't know. I'd ask if someone weird dropped into my camp" Hoot stated after a minute. He wasn't a talker by nature but he and Jeff had a comfortable back and forth. Sometimes it was just nice to hear another person's voice.

Jeff chuckled and squatted down on the outcropping nearby so he could look over at Hoot.

"No you wouldn't" he answered with a grin. "You'd sneak up behind them, take 'em down, flexi-cuff 'em, and than interrogate them."

Hoot laughed.

Jeff shook his head.

"This is the past, Hoot. Or at least it seems that way. Weird shit happens all the time they can't explain. Maybe not this weird but seriously, if they blame an earthquake on a god being pissed and check out new caves because they might be housing a giant with one eye, two guys showing up talking weird probably just falls under the same ' why the hell not?' category."

"I'm not doin' this 'god' crap" Hoot clarified. Less out of the blue than you'd expect. Jeff shrugged.

"It's what they believe."

"I know" Hoot frowned, squinting up at the sky for a moment. "But I don't and I'm not doin' animal sacrifices or spillin' my drink or any of that shit." Even if his grandma wouldn't have killed him for it - and she would - as a born and raised Christian he couldn't even pretend. When they talked about idol worship in church on Sunday, he didn't think the preachers put much thought into this type of situation happening anymore.

"I didn't see a temple" Jeff commented. Hopping down to settle on his heels next to his friend. He'd been raised Methodist himself but Hoot was Southern. And that included his view on religion and where it belonged in someone's life. Hoot thought about it a bit and than shrugged.

"Refugee camp" he agreed. "They really don't have a lot."

"They're not lacking in armour and weapons" Jeff pointed out and Hoot nodded. Priorities. They both understood that.

"We stay here much longer we're going to have to learn how to use those oversized knives of theirs" Hoot stated after a little while and Jeff made an agreeing noise.

"That's going to feel stupid" he admitted and Hoot chuckled.

"When we get back we'll show Giz a thing or two about his SCA gear."

Jeff laughed and settled down, starting to take off his own boots.

"Your job to keep watch, sunshine. I think I'm going to catch a nap up here where that Padmay can't find me to drive a stake through my heart."

Hoot dried off his feet with his socks and than pulled them back on along with his boots. Jeff stretched out on his back and rested his arms behind his head as he shut his eyes.

"I'll watch" Hoot told him as he climbed to his feet. "But if that scowler shows up, you're on your own, bud."

"Promises, promises" Jeff mocked with a smile without opening his eyes.

Hoot slipped easily upward on the rocks and found himself a good position. He'd already taken off his shirt and the heat from the day felt good against his skin as he settled in, pulling his sunglasses down automatically over his eyes. Whatever had popped them here had let him keep his sunglasses but not his gun. And he still wasn't sure if that was something he'd disagree with when it came to priority. He shifted backward and stretched out his legs again. Able to see a good distance from his position and all the approaches to the little spot of rocks and grass he and Jeff were crashing at. They'd needed some down time. Even though everyone seemed friendly - or at least stopped short of physically trying to kill them, didn't mean they were safe and neither one of them had slept much or well last night. He linked his hands loosely across his stomach and let his mind drift while his eyes kept watch.

He had no idea how the hell they'd gotten here. More important to him though was 'why'. Sometimes shit happened for no reason. But this kind of shit...?

Not that he had a lot of experience but it was hard to imagine something happening randomly on a level that actually changed the forces of the universe. If there was a 'why' to all this - than they could figure it out, do whatever they needed to do and hopefully that would let them go home. 'Home' of course being the Delta base because neither he or Jeff had family back in their time. At least not 'family' in the sense you married into it. They both had 'family' they'd been born into. More than Hoot liked to deal with for extended amounts of time for that matter.

Looking at the pieces he'd been offered, he went over the facts he knew so far. Again. One, they'd both been tossed in some dark mythological section of history. Him and another Delta operative. And - possibly - just them. They'd already talked about doing recon and leaving sign in case someone else had caught the time swirl from their unit and been tossed here too. Though - it seemed less likely. He and Jeff sat alone when they got serious about getting drunk. Two, it looked like they were on the Trojan side of this... 'afterwar' because he'd ended up with them to start with and killing the other team right off the bat the way they had probably wouldn't make them all too welcome in the Greek camp either. Three - he looked like their dead war leader.

He really wasn't sure how he felt about that. He wasn't even sure he really thought he looked like this dead 'Hector'. He felt more that dead Hector probably had looked a little something like him. Sure, historically on the time line, 'Hector' had first dibs but - well, since he wasn't here to defend himself, Hoot claimed 'origonal' spot and left the dead man as the 'copy'. He did know he was getting enough side glances from everyone in the refugee camp to make him uncomfortable. But was the similarity in looks part of the 'why' of why they were here or was it just a freak chance thing? Especially since Jeff didn't look like anyone missing so it wasn't as if Hoot had needed a blank space to fill before he could be pulled back in time. Did these people need someone that looked like their dead warlord?

And... there was a part neither he nor Jeff had mentioned but he knew they were both thinking about it as a factor too.

There was a sad-eyed widow with hair like cinnamon that had been the first person Hoot had laid eyes on. The woman that he looked like the dead husband of...

Andromache. Her name was Andromache, though Hoot, with Delta mindset, had already nicknamed her 'Andy' in his head. He'd had her say her name over and over again earlier today at breakfast. Just to tease her. Just to see that almost flicker of laughter in her bottomlessly dark eyes. Her son's real name turned out to be Sacramandar but everyone called him Astyanax which apparently meant 'defender of the city' or 'lord of the city'. Some name that meant 'protector'. As nicknames went it was only barely shorter and just as tongue twisting to pronounce as the origonal name. Andromache and Astyanax.

He liked being around them. Hoot was a pretty straight-forward man despite his line of work and he made it a point to never lie to himself or his friends. He liked watching Andromache's pale, thin face. Especially when she forgot herself and it became animated and that warm glow moved under her skin and revealed those almost invisible golden freckles that barely scattered the bridge of her slim nose. And he liked the kid. Astyanax didn't talk - at least not that Hoot had heard. But with wide black eyes and a face just as expressive as his mother's there was very little the boy couldn't 'say' without using words. And - well, hell. Hoot had always been a pushover for kids.

His eyes narrowed as he watched someone slowly picking their way up toward his position. At this distance he wasn't sure who it was. A woman. And not Andromache. Shorter but even if she hadn't been Andromache moved differently than any woman he'd ever watched before. The hair was dark so it wasn't the blond girl but it wasn't black so that let out the wannabe Delta slayer. He finally recognized the girl that had tipped them off as to the 'where' in time they were when as she raised her heart shaped face now to look around. Wondering where two operatives could have disappeared to in a place that was all stone.

Hoot gave her a moment or two more to look. When Delta didn't want to be found, you didn't. And than he tossed a pebble at Sanderson and slipped silently down the other side of the boulder to come around and meet her at the top of the path she was working her way up.

"oh!" She looked surprised when she raised her face from watching the loose rocks under her sandals and saw him suddenly there. She had large eyes too and they went wide and darker but she didn't look like her first thought had been to bolt and Hoot gave her an easy smile to reassure her. She shook her head.

"You don't look like him when you're blocking the sun" she stated, taking his offered hand in her much smaller one so she could reach level ground where he was. "Hector, I mean. He was broader in the shoulders and chest than you. With the sun behind you you look nothing like him."

"Thanks?" Hoot hazarded and she smiled. A quick, shy smile.

"He was my cousin. My girlhood hero. I was jealous when he married Andromache" she confessed but it was said the way you talked about childhood crushes and dreaming of being Cinderella and Hoot didn't get the impression she held it against the taller woman. She glanced warily around.

"Where is Sandson?"

Hoot fought down the smile at the mangling of his friend's name and shrugged. By now, awake and aware, who knew where Jeff had gotten to. But more to the point, he wasn't going to tell even if he knew. Right now the only person he trusted completely was his fellow Delta. Which meant that was who he counted on to watch his back.

"Around" Hoot had a habit of reverting to single word answers. She looked a bit worried by that but nodded and looked back up at him. She reminded him of a little girl. Not completely, but that was his overall response to her round eyes and her cherubic face and her tiny stature. She shifted her little girl's hand from his palm to his wrist after she'd come even with him and he'd released it.

"You don't have his chest either" she commented and he looked down at her in surprise. He was so used to being around only men on base that he'd forgotten about his absent shirt. Deeply southern it felt a bit impolite to be around a woman that way but leaving to go get the shirt seemed even more awkward and out of the way.

"Oh?" he offered when she didn't say anything else and she smiled that shy smile again. Letting go of his wrist to touch a place on his chest near where the shoulder met the chest.

"Hector had a spear scar here" she indicated it with a sliding brush of her fingers. "And his chest was wider."

"I have a hard enough time fitting into tight spots as is" Hoot drawled, watching her closely. She caught something in his tone and her round face looked up at him, eyes suddenly wide again.

"I'm sorry" she swallowed unconsciously, taking a small step back. "I just - we're all trying to understand why you're here. You look so much like him sometimes. And sometimes you don't at all. No one in the village is sure what to do or how to react really. And Andromache's just treating you like a visiting traveler."

He understood. Everyone was taking their cue from their leader. The willowly mother of their 'king in waiting'. The widow of their warlord. He'd seen enough strong women run an operation behind or in place of their husbands in every part of the world not to recognize it here.

"I am just visitin'" he answered calmly and her eyes found his again. Young and vulnerable.

"Why?"

One edge of his lips quirked.

"Isn't that the million dollar question?" he asked and moved over to sit down on one of the boulders that rested against the steeper mountain walls here. She joined him, sitting on one nearby but still a 'safe' distance away he noticed. He shook his head.

"I don't really know" he answered honestly. He and Jeff had already decided to skip the 'sent from the gods' crap if it came up. "I'm from nowhere anywhere near here. But I woke up in your field and I don't seem to be disappearing when the next day rolls around so no one's dreaming."

She paused. As if wrestling with something. Pale hands linked and unlinked in her lap and than she looked up at him.

"Do you think you're here to defeat the Greeks? Restore Troy?"

And there was such longing and hope and fear and uncertainty in her voice it was heart breaking. It softened his answer.

"I wouldn't know the first thing about how to do that."

Well, maybe the first thing. But he seriously doubted even he and Jeff could change the tide without any of their weapons. And - they'd already talked about it. Just because they were here they were both still awfully leery about trying to change history.

"oh" her face fell. Looking back down at her twisting hands she nodded. "The gods decided Troy should fall. I don't suppose I should expect it to rise again."

Hoot's eyes narrowed but he didn't make the comment. From what he'd seen of the world, any god didn't have much to do with the rise or fall of a people. It had more to do with the people. Though - you could make an argument for otherwise when you looked at some of the things that had happened in Israel...

"Do you think you're here for her? For Andromache?"

The question, so far from where his mind had been, surprised him and he looked mildly over at her, dark eyes calm. She blushed and lowered her face anyway.

"Why would you think that?" he asked. Even though he thought it was pretty obvious considering the way he looked. Or rather the way 'Hector' had looked.

"She's very beautiful" the younger girl answered, surprising him. "She doesn't think so but everyone knows she is. She's tall and stately and sometimes she makes me think of Athena. Calm and tall and wise. None of our men would dare approach her. Not Hector's widow. But you can see how much they respect her and how much her swallowed sorrow breaks their hearts. We always thought she would end up like Queen Dido of Carthage. But than you came."

Hoot watched the way her fingers linked and unlinked.

"From where I'm from to here is a long stretch just for romance" he commented, eyebrows shifting upward a hair. "And I'm not the only one that's here. Sanderson's here too. Maybe we're here because of him."

She looked surprised by the suggestion and looked around for the missing Delta automatically.

"Its possible" she admitted after a moment's thought.

"Just because I look familiar doesn't mean I'm the one everything has to revolve around" Hoot continued calmly. "Maybe I'm just a coincidence."

She didn't look convinced but than her eyes widened again.

"Or a distraction" she supplied as the thought struck her. Hoot hadn't thought of that angle but he nodded after a minute.

"Might be" he admitted.

"Andromache thinks you aren't dangerous" the little girl stated after a minute. Looking at him. Hoot chuckled.

"I'm the most dangerous man you've ever met. But I'm not here to hurt you. I'm sure of that."

"You're such a bull shitter" Jeff commented as Hoot watched the figure of the young girl disappear down the path.

Hoot chuckled.

"Flattery."

"You might be a distraction" Jeff rolled his eyes.

"Hell, who's to say this mess isn't all about you?" Hoot asked with a crooked smile, turning to look at his friend as Jeff dropped down from the overhead rocks to join him. "After all, you actually know what's going on history-wise."

Jeff shot him a look.

"We could argue that you're the one that looks like their dead leader. But I'm going to go with the more proven answer that - hell, you're always the one out of the two of us that everything happens to."

"Not all the time" Hoot started to protest and than shook his head. "Well, maybe. But that doesn't mean this is following the pattern."

Jeff just chuckled and slapped the dark haired man on the shoulder.

"I'm just here 'cause you always need me to haul your ass out of the fire."


	11. Chapter 11

I was mending my son's blanket when Paris entered the camp. I did not see Paris but I saw the commotion his return caused and I saw Helen's golden head racing past in the gathering darkness. She always glowed but she glowed like the sun when Paris was nearby.

Without comment I looked back down at my work and squinted in the unsteady light from the fire though I knew Padme's sharp eyes were suddenly watching me closely. Paris was our leader now. Partially. We shared the responsibility, each taking over certain roles. I was glad of it and he seemed so too. Because neither of us could fill my dead husband's role and in dividing the attempt there seemed to be less pressure to. Though, in the end of things, he still bowed to my final say. I was queen to his prince. But more, I was older and more used to leading. It still sat awkward on his slim shoulders and his faith in himself wasn't strong enough to carry an entire nation. But he was growing. The responsibility did that to him.

So did the guilt.

"Elder sister." He was leaning down in front of me than and I raised my cheek for his kiss of greeting. Giving him a welcoming smile at his return. Perhaps my smiles were not as real as they had once been but the thought behind them was still honest and everyone had learned to adjust to that. But he still looked worried, brows low on his young face, and I noted, though he had already greeted Helen that he smelled of the hunt, sweat and blood and damp earth. He had not washed before coming directly to me.

"Little brother" I slipped the needle into the fabric so I would not lose it and reached up to gently pat his cheek. "You smell like wild animal."

It served because his face smiled than and he relaxed at my mild teasing. All could not be that bad if Andromache was still teasing...

"I'm sorry" he apologized. Such a long way we had fallen from our grander days of nobility. Me with my torn dress of knobbed wool. He hunting not for pleasure but for survival. And both of us pushing manners to the side to suit the need. He sat down to the side of me and Astyanax crawled, drowsy, into his lap. Paris supported his nephew and watched my face.

Helen had already told him. His eyes gave it away but I knew my Spartan sister in law too well to have doubted it either way.

"We have visitors" I admitted and watched him nod. Dark eyes on me. Waiting for a clue. A cue. But how could I give him any when I did not know myself? I rested my hand gently over his wrist and met his dark eyes with my own.

"Two strangers from farther away than I have ever heard. One of them looks a great deal like Hector" I told him softly.

And I watched everything I had felt moving through his face as well.

"Helen told me" he admitted. Young face still a worry of conflicting thoughts. "But - "

"Only I could tell you a man looked like my husband and have you know it was true without a doubt" I finished. Lips curving for him again in understanding. He nodded. Once again, someone waited on my view to form their own. I was becoming used to it.

"You let him stay?" he asked and again I nodded. There was no accusation in his voice. Just curiousity. A seeking for reassurance. But what could I give? I did not know how to react to the strange man, to either of the strange men. And they were lost in this part of the world. Even if I was not now bound to them by the rules of host and guest, I would still not be able to send them away. I had lost that chance and now my mind and my heart had no strength left to attempt it again. Even though I knew I should. It was times like these that I ached for my husband's strength. He would have had the strength to send them away. Though, if he were here, there would be no reason for me to want them sent.

Without my husband, I had no strength to fall back on but my own. And my own was never enough.

But it was all I had left to depend upon.

I turned to Helen who was arriving. Face flushed with pleasure at Paris' return, hands full of a bowl of food she had kept warm for him. And - oh, I could have hated her than. For having her love and knowing no complications to it. But all I felt was hollowed out inside and I reached to lift my son out of Paris' lap and back into my own where Astyanax nestled in close against my stomach and fell back into his doze.

"Helen" I said her name and she turned from the look she and my brother in law were sharing to smile brightly at me.

"Yes, Andromache?" she asked and I gestured with the hand I did not have against my son's back.

"Could you fetch 'hoot' and 'sandorsun'?"

She looked surprised that I had asked her and not another but pleased. Eager to please as well. She never was given any responsibility. Even this little thing, though it took her temporarily away from her lover, left her feeling as if, for once, she was able to contribute something. But I sent her because she was the only one I trusted not to have other motives when it came to the strangers. She leaned down to give Paris a quick kiss and than was gone back into the village. Our 'guests' were somewhere about. Padme had brought me hissing news that they had returned close to dinner time from whatever they had been doing in the mountains. I knew I should fear they were bringing news of our whereabouts to the Greeks... but again, I didn't have the strength in me to. And that was a betrayal of my son to treat his safety so lightly.

"Does he really look like Hector?" Paris asked again and I pressed my lips together.

"Sometimes" I admitted. Feeling the guilt for even saying such a thing. It felt like a betrayal for how could I say anyone but my husband looked like my husband. "And sometimes not. His hair and build are not the same. But it is in his face."

"Does he - does he remember - do you think..?" Paris was stumbling over his question, voice low and hesitant and it broke my heart for him. Gentle I touched his cheek and met his dark eyes.

"No." I shook my head. "There is nothing of our Hector's soul inside him. He has no memory of Troy or you or I or Achilles' final thrust in him. It is not in his eyes."

Paris met my eyes and nodded and I knew he was torn between relief and guilt. Because I too would have wanted one last chance to be able to speak to my husband. I had not even had the comfort of hearing his last words. And Paris, I thought, wanted to ask forgiveness...

"Here we are!" Helen's melodious voice. Making her announcement sound as if she were Iris the gods' own messenger announcing it. I looked up at the two strange silhouettes in the firelight and felt something deep in my chest start aching.

"Hey." 'Hoot's' voice and he folded his legs and sat down next to me.

The blanket I'd forgotten I was holding was taken out of my hand and I found a wooden bowl, full of a hot soup, replacing it. And, unresisting - I again let him. His fingers covered mine and I felt the warmth and roughness of his skin on the tips of them. Raised my eyes to his and found he was waiting for them already. The darkness in his own eyes swallowed me.

"You haven't eaten yet" his voice was low and his fingers over mine did not let go any more than his eyes did.

"No" I found myself answering softly and his lips softened, curving at their edges.

"Good thing I'm here than" he commented and than his shadowed eyes released mine and he was looking down.

"Hey, shorty" he returned Astyanax's drowsy wordless greeting and his face changed again as he did so. I heard Paris next to me inhale and looked over to see the way he reached unconsciously for Helen's hand and it was there for him, their fingers weaving together without the need for thought.

"'Hoot" I said his name and his face, half hidden in shadows thrown from the fire, raised again. "This is Paris. He is Hector's younger brother." I had never been good with past tense when it came to certain things.

'Hoot's' eyebrows rose slightly but he nodded anyway.

"Nice to meet ya" his voice, I noticed tended to lengthen and blur at the edges when he was dealing with a new situation. "I'm Hoot and this is Sanderson." The blond man raised a hand in greeting but seemed, as he had been so far, still content to let his friend do most of the talking. I did not miss the way he had settled down as well but instead of sitting was resting on his heels and shifted in such a way that he could watch the sides of the camp that 'hoot' could not see.

"Paris" Paris reintroduced himself without realizing he was doing so. "Of Troy. Helen tells me you saved Andromache from the Greeks."

My head swung around and I gave Helen a wide, surprised look. He had done no such thing! 'Hoot' chuckled next to me.

"Nah" he answered. "I saved his lazy ass from the bad guys." He jerked a thumb in his friend's direction and the other man snorted with a crooked smile. "Andy didn't need any saving."

I looked at him than, eyebrow arching at the strange title he had given me. He gave me a sideways smile in return and tapped the edge of the cooling bowl of soup I had not touched yet.

"What did the Achaean's want with - " Paris hesitated over the unfamiliar word. "Sand door son?"

The blond stranger made a low whistling noise that made 'hoot' smile and than 'hoot' shook his head.

"Don't know."

"They seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see them" the blond man answered. "I woke up in a field and was trying to get my bearings when they showed up. They wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what was going on. Since they had sharp pointy swords they got to go first with the questions."

"They were going to kill him" Helen supplied, blue eyes wide. As if, somehow, people wanting to kill each other still shocked her. Neither of the strangers seemed bothered by the fact people they didn't know had tried to kill them and it only reinforced my idea that they, wherever they were from, had been soldiers there too. I took a sip of the soup, wondering which path Paris would take with these men. There were so many. At least I knew he would not make a final decision on anything without me first.

Aeneas came to us after dinner.

It was not a strictly enforced rule but everyone in our camp tended to let us eat alone. The 'royal house'. Or what was left of it. For a thriving family of over a hundred sons and innumerable daughters and an endless line of cousins and nieces and nephews - we had lost much when the entire royal family of Troy now consisted of barely enough people to circle a small fire. 'Hoot' and 'sandorsun' filled up a large part of the emptiness with their presence at my side for all they were so silent most of the time. And I - I was surprised by how much I needed that emptiness filled.

For a very long time we had only lost faces by the fire. Not gained them.

My husband's people were fading.

"My queen."

I looked up at the voice and saw my husband's cousin towering over us. He looked nothing like Hector. They said his mother was Aphrodite. A strange twist on the usual male seduction of helpless mortals.

"Aeneas" I greeted him softly and his face relaxed. He had fought next to my husband in the battle for Troy. I think, almost as much as I, he felt the loss of the man my husband had been. Always quick with a laugh before, as flirtatious as his supposed mother, the loss of his own wife in Troy's funeral fires had left him sober and serious. His little son, barely older than my own, was asleep against his shoulder. Aeneas was young. Paris' age. My age. But, like us all, his eyes were becoming ancient.

He glanced now at the man that sat at my shoulder. And 'hoot' looked back at him with steady dark eyes. Aeneas did not challenge his right to be there and if anyone had a right to, it was Hector's cousin, his war-brother. But our cousin would not. Because I did not. Instead he went to a knee near me after acknowledging Paris with a nod.

"You asked me to tell you my plans for our people" Aeneas reminded me low and I nodded. Wishing I had forgotten. But I had not. Being chased yesterday... I had felt things changing inside me as I had cowered in that tree. And I was not sure they had changed for good.

"We cannot stay" he repeated. His old argument. "There is nothing for us here. Troy is cursed ground. Our only hope is to find a new home. Somewhere safe to rebuild. Our people need a permanent home, my lady. You know we do."

Paris watched me as I cradled my own sleeping son against me. So many orphans. So many widows and widowers. Aeneas led what was left of our soldiers. And he was my husband's cousin. With his wife lost, some had expected him to marry me. But I was Hector's widow. No man had a right to follow that. Hellenus had tried. Before he had been captured by the Achaean's.

I looked up at Aeneas. Truly focused on him as I often did not with males these days.

"Where would we go?" I asked. And it was the first time I had done so. I felt Paris' start of surprise next to me. Always before I had dismissed the idea of leaving behind our homeland to become foreigners in a strange country. Beggars living off of other's charity. I shook my head and my eyes were steady. "I will not travel to another country for succor" I clarified. "And we are too few to take a kingdom for ourselves. Where will we go that is not overrun with barbarians or inhospitable to us? We will lose lives on your voyage and I will not have them lost in vain. Where would you take us, cousin?"

He blinked at that. Not an unintelligent man but he had obviously expected my answer to be the same it had always been. Not a question instead. My always restless mind had bent itself to the problem already and I spoke it aloud now.

"Would you march us south? Are there enough of us left to free our homeland from its harsh Achaean rule and establish us again? Would we venture east into Hittite land and be overwhelmed? To the north our old trade partners across the water are being overrun by barbarians. The Amazons told us as much when they came to our aid in Troy's last days. To the west is only fouled lands and haunted kings. Our enemies. Where would you take us? Where would you take our children to find their future?"

"Would you go?" he sat forward quickly. Intent. Asking the real question. Eyes searching mine. "Wise Andromache. Guardian of our nation. Mother of our king and praised wife of our greatest prince. Would you go? If I could find you a home?"

The edges of my lips shifted. Not a smile. It was too painful for that. I reached out and almost - almost - I touched his arm. Met his light eyes with the darkness in my own. Things broken inside me yesterday...

"I will never know 'home' again, my cousin. But, if you can find one for our children, a place they may grow up Trojan and proud - if you can tell me the cost we will pay is worth the goal at the end - yes." I heard Bithia hiss in a noise behind me. My eyes stayed steady with his. "Yes, Aeneas. I will go."


	12. Chapter 12

"Italy."

"What?" Hoot glanced over at his friend as they both picked their way around the perimeter of the camp. The soldiers here were well trained. They'd done a good job of setting up guards for the camp. But - well, Delta was Delta. You got your boots on the ground and checked it out for yourself.

"They end up in Italy" Sanderson stated, pausing in their 'stroll' to look back at the last guard position they'd startled by suddenly showing up. It was well hidden from here. "Aeneas takes them all over the place and they finally end up in Italy. Where Rome will be founded in fact. Virgil did this whole thing about it."

Hoot inhaled and stopped moving. They'd circled the encampment and he was fairly content with the defenses. A score of Delta could have done better but he didn't exactly have those, now did he?

"So they end up in Rome" he nodded. He'd been to Rome. Lots of Italy actually. His accent and casual attitude usually made most people think he was on the simple side. But he had a higher IQ than most and even if he didn't have a college degree the way a lot of his fellow Deltas did, there was nothing lacking in his book learning either. He liked to get out and check out the lay of the land when he was stationed somewhere. And he'd been in Italy for a while.

"Most of them." Jeff said it slow and Hector's head turned just as slow to look at his friend. Jeff met his eyes and didn't say anything else.

"You're gonna clarify that" Hoot suggested and Jeff exhaled.

"Aeneas makes it to Italy, Norm. Virgil writes a story about him and his son founding the city."

The silence was heavy in the night. Hoot sat down on a rock and wished he had his cigars. He didn't smoke. Not the way most people did. But it was how he unwound. His 'treat'. Sometimes just before a mission or just after it. Not enough to slow down his run time or sap his stamina.

He wanted one now.

"What about Meander?" his voice was low. "Andy's kid. Scamandrius?"

Jeff squatted down in front of him. Forearms loose over his thighs as he rested on the balls of his feet.

"Its all just legends and rumours, man" Jeff excused it. "Nobody really knows how it went down."

Hoot just looked at him.

"Most legends have Astyanax thrown from the walls of Troy when the city fell. Because of who his father was."

"Christ..." Hoot ran his hand across his face. He'd seen what wars did to babies. He'd seen first hand what men were capable of doing to helpless little kids. Sometimes - on the wrong nights - he'd see it in his dreams. Didn't make it any easier. He raised his eyes to his friend. "That would kill Andy."

"Andromache's given to Achilles' son at the end of the war. She has some kids by him before he's killed."

"Achilles?" Hoot shook his head. "That's the guy that killed her husband."

Starting to feel - angry inside. Not the annoyed, pissed off kind of anger. But a dark simmering anger. Jeff nodded.

"Yeah" he agreed, voice flat. Brutalized women weren't exactly something new to them either. Not in the dark places they went. Not with the filth they dealt with. "After he dies, she marries one of Hector's younger brothers. Ends up as queen of quite a few countries by the end of her life. Its funny really. Helen slowly fades in history once she's brought back to Sparta. But Andromache keeps showing up. Aeneas sees her again while he's stumbling around trying to find Italy. As queen she and her children drive the Greek invaders out of several countries and establish kingdoms that lasted well into the Roman era. Alexandar the Great claimed to have been a descent of her daughter, Olympia." Jeff's eyes met Hoot's. "Ancient legend cares what happens to her."

I sat on my bed, slowly working the tangles out of the waves in my hair. It smelled slightly of woodsmoke. I would have to wash it tomorrow.

As much as I tried not to, I detested bathing in the cold mountain streams. Everything I had lost - and I chose to be a simpleton when it came to lack of hot water. It was shaming. But I could not seem to work my way past it. Hector would have laughed at me. But - Hector would have joined me and kept me warm as well...

I heard the knock against the wooden frame of the lean-to and made a soft noise, careful not to disturb my sleeping son. Astyanax was sprawled out on the bed, mouth open wide and snoring softly. One tiny hand across my thigh. Always needing to touch me when I was nearby.

The skin across the door moved and I looked up. But I knew who it would be. 'Hoot' had to duck low to enter and as he straightened I was again struck by what a large man he was. He did not move like a large man. His dark eyes found me, found my son, did a quick traverse of the room. And than he came and sat on the edge of my bed with us. My son between us. The small room was suddenly warmer, the light from the single lamp a richer gold. And I had not realized it was cold or dark before. I should have protested the presence of a man on my bed, even as sad an excuse for a bed as it was. But I did not.

One of his long fingers lightly touched my son's nose and I watched 'hoot's' lips shift upward. One of his rare, quiet smiles. And than those dark eyes rose to mine and everything inside me went still.

"Who's Achilles' son?" he asked and his voice was soft in response to my sleeping son. I shivered anyway.

"Pyrrhus Neoptolemeus" I whispered the name, eyes on the comb in my hands. I had hated Achilles. But I had never - I had never feared him. But his son called up a nameless terror inside my chest. I would never forget the sound of his laughter as Troy was slaughtered. And now I found that he had stayed behind. To hunt us still.

Me.

"Neep Toll House?" 'hoot' asked and the moment was suddenly broken as I choked. Covered my mouth with the back of my hand. 'Hoot' lowered his head to look at me.

"Was that a smile I just saw?" he drawled, voice slow, edges of his own mouth curving as his eyes found mine.

I kept my pale hand over my lips but - I think it might have been. I raised my eyes to his.

"Perhaps" I whispered.

"Than I guess endin' up here wasn't such a bad thing afterall" he commented and from anyone else it would have been empty flattery. But his eyes were still smiling and warm and I realized he meant it. He jerked his chin toward the empty chair in the corner. "So tell me why Podmay's left you all alone and undefended when there's evil men loose in the camp?" he asked, shifting the subject. And it - saved me. So that I did not have to think of what that smile, that almost laugh, had been or what it meant. Or the way that the words he had no right to speak to me had made me feel.

"I think she is out looking for you" I told him, voice low.

He shook his head but it was with a crooked grin.

"That woman ever gets her hand on a gun, I'm a dead man" he stated without malice. "Don't worry" he flashed me a wink. "I think she's got a thing for my friend."

"'Sandorsun?"

He chuckled at my pronunciation.

"Why not?" he asked calmly, sitting forward to rest his arms across his knees. "Jeff's big enough to take her in a fair fight." He shrugged. "I get the impression your friend's not used to bein' told 'no'. Especially by a man."

My brows wrinkled at that. I was not sure how I felt about Padme and the blond stranger. In truth, it didn't matter what I thought but - it was an odd feeling to wonder.

"You tell her 'no' all the time" I pointed out and 'hoot' chuckled.

"Not my type" he defended good naturedly. "If I ever fall asleep next to a woman, I'd like to know I'm gonna be alive to wake up come morning."

"Is that the type of woman you have in your own place?" I asked it softly and than shut my eyes and cursed myself for doing so. Hoped desperately that he told me 'yes'. It was quiet what felt like a very long moment to me.

"Don't have a woman" 'hoot's' voice was very low. "I don't like sharin' space."

Why had he told her that? Didn't matter that it was true. It was personal information and he didn't share that kind of thing. But her amber eyes opened and she looked up at him.

"Why not?" she asked and it was so childlike and curious, without a whisper of judgment that he found himself opening his big mouth again.

"People touchin' me - its never been a good thing. Not growin' up and definitely not in my line of work now. I just don't like feelin' crowded when I sleep - that's all."

Yeah. The army shrinks had a field day with that one. Or they would if he was ever stupid enough to let it slip during a psych eval. But he didn't. Hell, even Jeff, who'd had to pile in when the safe zone in a hot spot was starting to shrink probably only suspected it. And here he was just splashing it around. Like Andy needed to find him even more weird than she already did. Usually he didn't care what other people thought of him. But usually what they were seeing wasn't even a hair of the real him anyway.

"I hate the dark" she confided and he turned his head to look at her in surprise. She looked a bit embarrassed and gave him one of her flickering apologetic smiles. Not the real thing but her mobile face was beautiful. Her honey colored eyes flicked to his from the edges of her lids.

"I know its foolish but I can't stand being in a room with no light. My husband - my Hector - he used to always leave the windows open for me at night. No matter how cold it got. So that I wouldn't feel stifled." Her slim shoulders suddenly jerked inward and she shut her eyes tightly.

"Hey" he stood up to move over on the bed. Scooping her up. She really weighed nothing at all. It couldn't be healthy. But he didn't think she intentionally starved herself because that's what she thought the skinny models in the magazines told her to look like. No, he thought her unconscious starvation went a hell of a lot deeper than that.

"Please" her voice was choked and one of her slender hands fisted against his chest. "Don't. Please..."

He shut his eyes but he settled her sideways onto his lap anyway. Wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. She was trembling again and he rested his cheek against the top of her head and murmured soothing words he didn't put much thought into. Her pale fingers moved and the hand against his chest clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

"I miss him" it was the dying of a world in her whispered voice.

"I know, darlin'" he murmured. Stroking her hair with the hand he had tangled in it. "It's all right. It is. You're allowed, ya know."

She turned her face into his throat with a little lost sound that almost broke his chest in two and her other hand knotted against his shirt in the back. And he wondered how long she'd been too busy being strong for everyone else to cry. Slow, he rocked her while she cried silently against him again. It wasn't the heartbroken cries from the last time he'd carried her. This was softer. Empty and lonely and alone. Lost without the desperation and loss that he'd heard that first time.

She quieted without the harsh jerking and choking. Soothing. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"There. See?" he asked gently. "Not so bad, was it now?"

She made a sniffing noise against him and let go of the front of his shirt to rub her nose. And than, absently, brushed those same fingers against the damp her tears had left on his shirt. He chuckled at the move. She made a stifled noise of protest.

"Don't laugh at me" she sniffed again but she wasn't angry. Just muted against his shoulder. It just made him chuckle again.

"Sorry, darlin'" he apologized without sincerity. "Suppose I'm not supposed to call you 'cute' right now either, huh?"

"No" she was definite about it even if he wondered if she even knew what the word meant. He lifted his cheek from the top of her head and looked down. Letting go of her with one arm so he could stretch it out.

"Come on, shorty" he coaxed and Astyanax opened the eyes he'd been keeping closed. Hoot was no dummy. He knew little kids knew when their momma's cried. No matter how quietly she might be doing it. The dark eyes in that round little face met his. Full of worry and concern. Not pretending to be asleep anymore.

"Its okay, buddy" Hoot told the little boy softly. "Sometimes even mommies are allowed to cry."

That seemed to settle it for her son and Asytanax rolled off of his side and quickly crawled into his mother's lap. Andromache wrapped the arm she didn't have behind Hoot's back around her son and pulled him close. Hoot, lacking anything else to do with his free arm closed the circle for them. Holding them both in his arms on his lap. And little Astyanax, 'lord of the city', snuggled close against him and his mother. Andromache held her son in her arms. But she didn't move out of Hoot's.

At that moment Hoot wouldn't have taken the proverbial canoe had it come his way with gold plate paddles and a lifetime supply of Twinkies.


	13. Chapter 13

He probably could have slept with them if he'd wanted to. Andromache fell asleep in his arms again and Astyanax followed her example, snuggled in tight against both her and Hoot. Hoot could have just rolled them all over into the bed and pulled the covers over. It was his first thought.

It was his boots that saved them.

He hated sleeping in his shoes. Sure, he did it all the time in his line of work but - given the slightest chance, he always took his shoes off before he went to sleep. Especially in a bed. He'd been raised right about that kind of thing. So, instead of just tipping over the way he felt like, he had to pause and think about how he was going to get his boots off first without waking up the two in his arms. And, once his mind kicked in about the footwear, it kicked in about the rest of it too.

Damn.

He couldn't go to sleep with these two.

He wanted to. Crazy as that was, especially after he'd just gotten done admitting to his - 'issue' with being too close to someone, his first instinct was just to shift over onto his side and change the sitting to laying down for all three of them. But there were two reasons he couldn't do that now that he was thinking. The first was - the woman in his arms had a reputation. He wasn't sure exactly what it was but he was pretty sure it didn't include sleeping with any male other than her son. Chaperon or not, it wouldn't look right to have her curled up next to a strange man come morning. And two - she hadn't asked. He got that she hadn't asked for a lot of things he'd done to her so far. In fact, she'd asked him not to. But holding a woman while she cried was different from stretching out next to her in her bed and falling asleep with her body against yours. Didn't matter if nothing would happen. It was the simple fact that she hadn't offered and he wasn't the kind of man to take advantage of a woman that way.

Or her trust in him.

So in the end, mentally kicking himself, he shifted the two in his arms over onto the bed as gently as he could and pulled the blanket over them. Ignoring the way his legs had started to go to sleep while he'd stalled as long as he could to keep them close. Gentle, he brushed Andromache's cinnamon hair back from her face and than pulled the blanket down a bit so it tucked under Astyanax's chin. Hearing Andromache's soft sigh and shutting his own eyes for a moment before he straightened up. Than he turned around and nodded to the scowler that had returned to the room some time ago.

She gave him a glare that would have peeled paint off the side of buildings, killed small animals and crippled grown men. Somehow it only made him smile more. Than he turned and ducked back outside and into the night beyond. Resisting the urge to put his hands in his pockets and whistle.

Sanderson was sitting on a log nearby. Holding some material in his hands and he glanced up when Hoot came out. Flashed a smile.

"Still in one piece?" he asked and Hoot chuckled.

"No thanks to you. What if that woman had been busy stripping the skin from my bones in there?"

"I would have come if I heard screaming" Sanderson offered and Hoot rolled his eyes and settled down on his heels. He gestured with his chin to the cloth.

"Whadaya got there?"

Jeff shrugged.

"Our new clothes?" Her unfolded the material and held it up.

"That's a skirt" Hoot clarified flatly.

"Sarong" Jeff corrected and Hoot snorted.

"Damn right it is."

Sanderson laughed and tossed it at him and Hoot caught it automatically. Hoot held it up and frowned at it.

"I don't know about this goin' native, man" he stated.

"You did when we were in Pakistan. And Afghanistan. Remember those damn wooden saddles."

Hoot chuckled.

"First cavalry attack of the twenty-first century" he quipped and than went back to studying the cloth with a skeptical look. "And besides, I wore pants under those get ups."

Sanderson made a choking noise and than started to laugh. Hoot shot him a dark look.

"I know you're not thinking about that time near Tungi" he warned and Jeff snorted his laughter. Hoot ignored him.

"Skirts aren't so good for sneaking around in" he commented after a minute and Sanderson sobered.

"Got an idea?" he asked. Hoot shrugged.

"Things seem pretty secure here. I was thinkin' maybe we'd drop by this 'son of Achilles the Heel' and see what the set ups like."

Jeff thought it over. Looked over at his friend.

"Andromache's still here. Facts from this time didn't make it whole to ours. Could be things didn't turn out the way they say. Troy's fallen and she and her son are still alive and free."

Hoot nodded. Face expressionless as he looked out at the sleeping camp.

"Might be" he agreed, voice calm. "But might just be a time lag thing. Stories don't like having to put up with gaps inbetween their plot points. Think I'd like to just check things out anyway." He looked down at the material in his hands. "While I'm still wearin' pants."

I woke up in the morning and I felt - better. It was strange. As if there was a hole in my chest. But in a good way. It felt - empty. Cleared out. As if I could breath for the first time in a very long time. I opened my eyes and saw the top of my son's curly head. Heard his soft breathing as he slept. And it was as if I was hearing him clearly for the first time in - in a very long time. Which was foolish. I always heard my son. But - things seemed clearer in the early morning light. I lay in bed and savored the feeling. Not wanting to look too closely at it or question or analyze it too much. Just - surprised by how pleasant it felt. I did not feel like rising and singing and dancing. But - the thought of rising did not fill me with aching despair today either.

Suddenly fearful, I reached for the memory of my husband. Terrified that I might have forgotten him. But his dark eyes and his gentle calloused hands were still there for me in my mind. The low sound of his voice and his complete, open smile. I felt the ache of his absence in my chest. But it did not threaten to overwhelm me as it had so often in the past. And that - that bothered me. Was I such a fickle woman that I would forget my love so easily? I was not supposed to live without my husband by my side. How shallow and faithless was I to forget how his absence crushed me? To betray him and his memory by not aching constantly for him? The guilt stabbed me sharply in my chest than and I curled my legs up. How he would be hurt to know I forgot what he meant to my life so easily.

"You let him be too familiar with you." It was Padme's voice, sharp and angry. Usually I would dismiss her opinions when she stated them this way but her thoughts at the moment were the same as mine and so I said nothing.

"He tried to stay with you last night" she informed me from the chair she had slept in. "But I drove him out. He is thinking of you as he should not and you only encourage him by not sending him away."

What would I have done if I had woken next to him? Even as I was now, dressed with my son in my arms and nothing more than sleep between us? What would I have done to wake and find myself with 'hoot'? And, to my shame, why did a part of me know that sleeping against his body would have brought me pleasure?

In not answering her, I only encouraged Padme and I heard her voice come nearer as she approached.

"You must send him away. Already people notice how you allow him near you. They are starting to look at him as another Hector."

"He is not Hector" I said it and heard her noise of strident assent. But she did not understand. I did not find comfort in him because I was mistaking him for my Hector. And somehow that was a greater betrayal than it would have been if I had.

"Of course he is not" Padme sat down on the edge of my bed and her voice softened. Gentle she stroked my hair. "He is a dark creature that does not belong with us. He will only cause you harm. You must send him away."

I shut my eyes.

"He is my guest" I whispered. For the bond between host and guest was sacred. And I knew I only hid behind it.

"He will leave if you ask him to" Padme's voice was low and soothing. "All you need do is let him hear it in your voice when you send him away. He will go if you tell him to."

And I could not deny the truth of her words.


	14. Chapter 14

'Hoot' was not present at breakfast that morning though. I found it both a relief and yet it bothered me inside as well. And than it bothered me that his absence would bother me. Absent I pushed my fingertips against the space between my eyebrows. Rubbing at the ache.

"You should send someone to find him. To send him away now while he still has the day to travel through." Padme, at my side, was pressing me in my weakness and we both knew it. What she never seemed to realize was that there was a time to press me and than a time to leave things be. Too much pressure made me stubborn - as my husband had learned. I was not there yet but if she continued to lecture me I would soon reach it.

"Andromache!"

I looked up, glad of the distraction. From both Padme and my own thoughts. Briseis swooped down to settle next to me on the side Padme was not occupying. "Paris found the sweetest little pool on his way into our camp last night. He says its not far. He's offered to bring us. We can do some washing."

My thought about my hair and its need of washing last night came back to me but I hid the wince at the thought of cold water. How could I support my people and be an example if I could not deal with a little cold water? Paris was at Briseis' side though he didn't sit and he gave me a smile. I saw what was in his eyes. He was trying to please me.

He did it often. As if he were trying to make up for my departed husband's absence.

"Of course" I agreed with a faint smile. "A wash day would be lovely. I'm sure its far past time."

Briseis jumped up with a clapping of her small hands and I watched her, feeling better about my decision. It was not that washing well worn clothes brought the women of my camp so much joy. But the chance to be away from the men and gossip and giggle and simply enjoy the company of other women was a reason for pleasure. I smiled mutely at Paris and he looked proud to have found something like this for us.

What a very long way we had come from Troy's gleaming walls and simplistic games of knucklebones to pass the time in the women's quarters.

My son also caught the mood of the women around us. Young enough still to join us in our 'work'. He was a little fish and I swore he had known how to swim even before he could walk. He was like his father and did not feel the cold the way I did. Windy Ilium - the sons you raised.

I found my mind going backward a great deal this morning. To what had been. For a long time I had not thought of it, at first because it was too much to just find food and shelter for the next day and than because it only brought back the melancholy memories of the way my husband's laugh had filled the marble hallways. But today my mind traced backward in time. As if searching for something.

I sent Padme in to gather our clothes and blankets. So that she was not a presence constantly by my side to remind me of the tangle inside my own mind. Than I asked Paris to arrange with Aeneas for a few guards who could watch and make sure we were not unpleasantly surprised as we worked. Paris was happy to and as I watched him walk off I knew that Helen would not be joining us today. Her love was back and chances were the small pool was not the only place of rest Paris had found. I closed my eyes briefly and felt guilt that I envied them so. It was not right to feel the bolt of resentment at their joy in each other.

It did not take the women of the camp long to gather their things. We had not much left to gather. And than we all, arms full, followed Paris to his hidden pool. Picking our way carefully over the rocks while he sprang ahead as nimbly as a shepherd. We had all grown more sure footed in these past few years but the younger of us still helped the older ones along. There were not many paths in these places. We made our own way. Figuratively as well as literally.

I avoided Padme as we settled around the clear pool Paris had found. It was long and shallow and a small stream ran into it and than out again further down. The sheltering rocks rose protectively around us in most places, hiding us from prying eyes and there was a small scattering of stunted trees offering shade and the pleasant addition of the sound of the light breeze through their branches to mingle with the cheerful bubble of the stream. The sun was out in the sky and stray clumps of long grass grew in cracks in the rocks. It made me think of Thebe where I had grown up as a child and the endless grass fields full of wild flowers I had loved so much.

Astyanax laughed and waded right into the water and I followed a bit more slowly after him. I was not too worried about snakes for the water was clear and there was nothing for them to hide in in the pool. The water was warm where it was shallow close to the shore and I lifted my skirt and did not mind so much. Most of the women had set aside their wash for the moment as well and, as Paris disappeared back the way he had come, also waded cheerfully out into the water. My little son was soon bare of his clothing and shoes and bobbing up and down in the center of the pool with the greatest delight and I lifted my own dress and joined him so that the water was almost up to my waist. Which was as deep as the pool went though the water level was higher on others given that I was so tall. That deep in the chill of the water bit me but I was determined to wash while I could and so I ignored it, hiding my shivers as I bent my knees to sink entirely under. My son blew bubbles at me and like a little fish darted about as I carefully washed my hair and than myself as well as the dress I still wore. No one striped though I was not the only one washing myself. We had learned our lesson well about how quickly and without warning the Greeks could appear.

There was playful splashing and giggling going on, though, thanks to my rank and solemn reputation I was spared any of the cold water being splashed my way. Though - I had been young once. I had known what it was to shriek and laugh at splashed water...

I watched my son while he called for my attention. Showing off his newest tricks for me. Making me laugh at his antics. My son could always make me laugh. My treasure and my joy.

It was a warm day. The sun was bright and kind in the sky. Some might call it Apollo's blessing. I rather thought he was simply not paying attention. And good too. For a god's attention was not something I ever wanted in my life again.

I made my way back to the shore, glad of the feel of the warm rocks under my feet and knelt at the water's edge. Briseis joined me shortly. As I had suspected, most of the gossip revolved around the two strangers. And not a small amount of that gossip revolved around their looks as well as speculation about their... skills. I was glad my son was both too young and too busy with his own entertainment to hear.

"I find their leggings quite attractive" one of the young women was telling her friend and the older woman next to her chuckled.

"Its not the leggings you enjoy, dear. Its what's in them."

That drew a round of giggles and head shaking. But it wasn't denied either. I caught Briseis glancing at me but I pretended I had not. No one expected me to contribute and that was comfortable to me. I was not sure what I would have offered anyway and was fairly sure I did not want to know either. Briseis however - I sensed her desire to talk. And her caught trap that kept her from being able to. She had been a virgin priestess of Apollo. Until she had been captured by the Achaean's. No one needed to be told what had happened to her at their hands and it was common knowledge that the loathed Achilles had been her master. No one would talk to her of things that should be distasteful to any true Trojan woman, much less the cousin of our great Hector.

I alone knew how much more tangled than even that her time with the butcher had left her. I knew she had loved the beast...

So I did not speak because I did not want to. And Briseis did not because she could not. Padme, working nearby, only spoke to grumble about having to do the work in the first place and that was so common I hardly heard it anymore. We were a long way from silk dresses and dozens of hand servants. Though I sometimes remembered Hector's words to me during the war and wondered if my reddened knuckles and ragged finger nails would have caused him pain if he had known.

So I did not speak much that day. But the sound of the women, happy and chattering around me, did my heart good. I was glad to hear such normal, content sounds and it spoke to something deep inside me as well. To have a place where we might always be this way - to not have to live in fear and hiding. A home of our own...

Midday came and went with a stop for a meal and we laid our wet clothes and blankets out on the rocks so that the small grotto was awash with cheerful colors to match the sounds of female voices. The children played tag, darting amoung us but never straying out of sight. Even so young they knew that. One of our group was going to marry one of our soldiers and Briseis finally found her freedom as she and several of the younger women planned the dress. I sat back, resting on my hands and watched the ebb and flow of the children at play. Feeling - content. Again. My people were safe for the moment. My women happy. Our children untroubled by fear. All of it temporary but what in life was not?

And yet - I found my eyes seeking the tops of the tall stones that surrounded us. And something inside me waited...

Finally the day began to fade. The late afternoon shadows stretched far and almost without a word having to be spoken the women began to gather up their washing. Preparing to rejoin their abandoned men for the evening meal. It did me good to see those faces, relaxed and carefree for these moments. I managed, somehow, to get my son dressed again, though he protested it. How like a man already. And than together with the others, we walked back to the camp. It was only as we were folding the clothes away that I realized that not only did my son not have his sandals but neither did I.

An oversight but one I could not afford. We had no access to trade. Those were my son's only shoes. And though he did not care for them I knew from intimate experience what traveling could do to the undersides of your unshod feet. So I found Padme and one of the Apollonian and corralled my son. Together we started back the way we had come.

And I pretended I had not noticed the fact that 'hoot' and 'sandorsun' were still missing from our camp.


	15. Chapter 15

It was dark by the time we reached the pool again. The moonlight changed the look of the grotto and I could, in my mind, easily see the spring's nymphs that I had not bothered about during the day. I kept my son close by me because of the possibility of their attention. Our guard, Aristos, held a tourch and its golden light was a liquid contrast to the silver of the moon. Together we searched for my son's missing shoes. I did not mind being out late for this was not the stifling dark of closed spaces and airless rooms that I had grown up fearing. And - I was in no hurry to return to the camp and sit at the empty fire. And I did not wish to think why that was.

I was not his mother. Or his wife. 'Hoot' had no reason to tell me where he went or why. Perhaps the gods had taken him back now that he had tangled my thoughts and my emotions up so cruely. But - even thinking it I could not help but disbelieve that.

Deep in me my heart found it easier to believe that he had simply left by his own chosing.

"Here!" Padme straightened from the rocks she had been searching and waved one of my son's sandles. Already they were too small for him but they were better than nothing. But she shook her head at my glance. Only one sandle. The other was still hidding.

"Boat" my son suggested. Sounding apologetic. He was not in trouble for the missing shoes. I knew my son and his habits. It had simply been an oversight on our part. Astyanax wasn't apologizing for us having to search in the dark, his idea of an adventure. Instead he was apologizing for - I sighed as I saw where he pointed.

Across the pool at the tiny shoe floating forlornly against a pile of rocks on the far side.

Promising myself that I could change and crawl into a warm bed when I got back, I gathered up the skirts of my dress and took off my own shoes before wading in. The water, berift of its sun, was colder than before and I made a face since the others could not see it. It was not even ice cold, just - cold enough for me to not enjoy being in it. My husband would have laughed at me.

Exhaling, I made my way across, using my toes to keep my balance on the uneven surface. My son cheered me when I reached his shoe. It made me smile and I was shaking my head as I carefully picked my way back. I was almost back to the shore when Padme made a sudden, alarmed noise and I looked up. Missed my footing. Flailed out with my free arm. And was suddenly caught up against a body.

A body I knew.

And for a moment, nothing in me cared that I should know better as I let myself relax into the safety and warmth of that body.

I felt 'hoot' chuckle quietly and his arm around my waist drew me. He moved both of us from the water. I felt his lips brush my temple.

"Missed you too, darlin'" his voice was a quiet rumble against my hair and I could feel it where his chest pressed against mine. I shut my eyes. He did not let go of me.

And - unforgiveable - I did not want him to.

"I thought you were gone" Padme accused angrily even as my son made a happy noise and threw himself into the impromptu embrace I was too relieved to find myself in to protest the way I knew I should. I had thought he was gone too.

I had thought that, once again, I was not enough to make a man stay.

'Hoot' shrugged.

"I was" he answered. Ruffling my son's hair with his free hand and greeting him with a 'hey, shorty'. Than he raised his face and actually had the gall to smile at my handmaid. "I'm back now."

Padme's face went livid and she looked around. For a second I thought that if Aristos had been closer she would have snatched his sword from him and used it on 'hoot'. Than she hissed:

"Where is your friend?"

Again 'hoot's' shoulder moved against me.

"Around" he answered obliquely and she snarled at him. My son pressed into my waist, eyes wide but with curiousity, not fear, as he looked at Padme.

"You're ruining everything" my friend hissed at the man next to me. Hatred in her eyes. "Everything was the way it should be before you showed up. Now you're changing everything."

"Padme" I interrupted her and she looked at me and the look in her eyes was so - I had never seen her look that way before. So full of anger. At me.

"You loved him" her voice broke as she looked at me. "I'd known you longer but you loved him more. You never smiled at me the way you smiled at him. But I told myself it was all right. Because he was always leaving you alone. You needed me when he was gone. And than he was gone for good. And you needed me more. All I ever wanted was for you to need me. Things were the way they were supposed to be. And than he showed up" she pointed at 'hoot' and her stabbing finger shook. Her eyes found mine and the pain in them broke my heart. "He's taking everything away from us again. And you're letting him. All over again!"

"Padme" I opened my hands, palm outward as I took a step toward her but she just hissed at me. And turned and ran. Helpless I watched her disappear into the night the direction we'd come from.

It took me a minute to move. To motion to the guard to follow her. Opperating on instinct because my mind seemed frozen. Not that Padme cared for me. I had always known that. But - I had not known her thoughts had wound the way they had...

"I can watch the kid if you want to go after her."

I turned to see 'hoot', large hand so casual on my son's tiny shoulder. Astyanax's face open and trusting. Pressing my lips together I looked back the way she had gone. Though she had surprised me I still knew my friend. She would not want to see me right now. She would be embarrassed by her confession. And - I did not know what I would say to her. I wrapped my arms around myself and shook my head.

Not yet. I would talk with her. But not until she was ready. She would hide from me until than. I knew from past experience. Instead I quietly asked:

"Why do you do that? Why do your words change when you talk to different people?"

It wasn't at all what he was expecting and he looked at her where she stood with her back to him. Looked down at her son and gave the boy a smile that was returned in spades.

"Don't know" he answered. He was aware that he laid the accent on pretty thick at times. Because it gave people the wrong impression about him. Which was usually what he was aiming for. Being underestemated made his job easier. Not that he didn't have a heavy Southern accent but he'd served in the army enough years that it had mellowed. Only thickened up at certain times.

"I like the way you talk to me. When it is just me" the woman in front of him was speaking softly. Still not turning around. "It is not as slow as I've heard you talk to others but it is warm and lazy and soft. Like honey at the edges of my ears."

His eyebrows went up at that and he didn't know whether to laugh or feel a bit self-conscious. He'd had plenty of women hit on him. But he'd never had someone sweet talk him like this before. He was pretty sure she didn't even mean to be doing it.

"Darlin', you'd better come back over here" he stated quietly and her face turned in the moonlight to look at him with curious dark eyes. It was that innocent curiousity of hers that was driving him to his knees inside. He gave her a smile and opened the arm he didn't have resting against her son. "Because if I come to you, its gonna be so that I can kiss you the way I want to."

He saw the flicker, the surprise and alarm in her eyes and they lifted to his. He kept his arm stretched out to her. Damn sure about this even if it didn't make a hell of a lot of sense. Tenitive she took a tiny step toward him. He could deal with a lot but the way she was somehow unconsciously and sweetly innocent wrecked him every time. A widow and a queen on the run shouldn't be so young inside. But she was and it was devistating. He took that single step as assent and reached out with his long arm to pull her back close. Tucked up against his side. Where he figured she belonged. Gentle he pressed a kiss to her hair. Cheating since he'd threatened to kiss her only if she didn't come.

"Should I mention your dress is soaked an' I can tell you've got legs?" he asked. Really nice, long legs.

She jerked against him and he wondered if he'd pushed too far. But he didn't take it back or apologize. And than she started to laugh. Quiet and she turned her face to hide it against his shoulder. But she was laughing.

Which he liked better than her crying. He liked it a whole lot more.

Meander, which was odd for a kid, didn't seem at all inclinded to wiggle out of the embrace he'd been included in. Hoot glanced down at him and saw the little fella's eyes were shut and there was a look of contentment and peace on the little guy's face. One of his tiny hands was clutching the fabric of his mother's skirt and his other arm was around Hoot's leg. Hoot brushed the dark curling hair on top of the kid's head with his calloused fingers and watched the trusting smile spread.

"Sorry I was gone so long" he murmured and the woman against his side shook her head. Laughter gone and she didn't lift her face to him.

"You don't have to tell me" she answered and his brows came down. Letting go of the kid for just a minute he reached out and get his fingers under her odd little chin. Lifting her face so he could met her eyes.

"But I want to tell ya" he told her, voice firm. "An' I want ya to ask. I like hearin' the thoughts in your head."

Her eyes went sad than. That empty, desolate sad he'd seen in them too often already. The weak smile she gave him was watery and she shook her head. But her pale hand rose and rested against his chest.

"No. You wouldn't."

She really was going to break his heart. He met her eyes.

"Yeah" he answered softly. "I do. Even those thoughts."

Her dark eyes held his for a long time. Searching. If he'd had a momma like her he never would have been able to get away with anything. But he wasn't lying and so he let her search just as long as she wanted.

"I'm a terrible wife" she confessed and her voice was a whisper. He saw the pain in her eyes, on her face. Gentle he reached up and stroked her high cheek with his thumb. Callouses over soft silk and hidding freckles. His dark eyes held hers.

"Darlin'" his voice was quiet and rough in his throat. "I can't imagine any man lovin' you and not dyin' inside at the thought of that light goin' out of your eyes."

It sent a shudder down through the core of me right to my toes. As if something ancient and heavy were moving. It was nothing so simple as a sudden freedom in my chest. Rather it was a great unwinding, unspooling that seemed to begin and than simply continue and continue and continue. Waves spreading outward inside me and I could only feel them. Not begin to understand what they meant. And than, just as I realized how deeply those changes were spreading through me, I heard a shout.

My head snapped up and around and 'hoot's' came up as well. Without a thought it seemed, he moved me behind him and I caught Astyanax closely to my chest, lifting him off his feet where he wrapped his small arms tight around my throat. There was another shout, cut off this time but I recognized 'sandorson's' voice. My heart climbed back into my throat and I held my son against me. Not sure, in the hollow between the stones, with the water to bounce sound, where the shout had even come from. 'Hoot' swore under his breath and eased us back, keeping himself in front of me, until we were sheltered dubiously against one of the tall stones that formed the bones of Mount Ida. He apparently had a better idea than I did where the call had come from.

Suddenly the nymphs in the pool seemed the least of my worries.

My knife was in 'hoot's' hand again and I realized belately that I had never taken it back. His other arm was behind him, keeping me close but also keeping track of me. He gestured with a jerk of his chin in the direction that led us out of the hollow in the mountain and he did not have to tell me to be silent as we began moving. I did not have to tell my son. He knew too well how to react to danger, my babe. We were almost to that first dark cut in the rocks when there was the sound of sliding stones across the way. 'Hoot' didn't slow but I watched the way he held my knife change as he prepared it to throw. A dark shape dropped down into the bowl of stone near the far side of the pool and I did not even have to focus to know it was not 'sandorsun'. There was the heavy scrape of metal from armour. The moonlight glinted off it. It also glinted off the arrow tip in the already drawn bow.

"Run!" 'hoot' hissed it at me and I turned to obey instinctively. From this distance, a single arrow, in the fickle moonlight - but than I jerked up hard. My back slamming into 'hoot's' and Astyanax wimpered soft in his throat. For we both saw the gleam of metal through the darkened slit we were almost to. 'Hoot' grunted when I impacted with him and I shook my head. Finding my voice.

"More" it came out choked and nearly silent but he heard it anyway. Quickly turned his head to look from the sides of his eyes.

"Shit" and swore again.

The men working their way up the path had already seen us. Been watching for us. And as I turned I saw other Achains dropping from the rocks and emerging from the breaks in the walls. Too many. And far too many with bows. 'Hoot' said nothing but he shifted us back again so that the pool was at our side. And always he kept himself between my child and me and the enemy. A part of me was furious. Betrayed again by the fickle gods. Who else had sent this man before me to rouse me from the half life I had been living and now would take it all away from me again? But a greater part of me knew only terror. For I held my son, Hector Man-slayer's son, in my arms and I already knew I was not strong enough to hold someone to this life when the Achains came for him.

"It'll be all right, darlin'." 'Hoot's' voice, slow and steady. He kept his eyes on the approaching men with their bows, almost ignoring the ones with the drawn swords. "Just stay calm and don't do anythin' unless I okay it first. Got that?"

I wondered if he really believed me when I told him:

"Yes."

Finally the Greeks were too close. 'Hoot' carefully knelt without taking his eyes from them and set the knife down on the stone in front of him before straightening, hands out at his sides. Even than the enemy was cautious and one man stepped foward to kick the knife into the pool before any of them dared lay hands on 'hoot'. They were rough with him and bound his hands behind his back. Silent. For what was there to say? I hissed and jerked backward when they reached for my son and 'hoot' finally spoke into the night from where they'd forced him to kneel:

"Scared of what the little baby might do if ya'll don't tie him up, boys?"

It earned him a hard blow. But it shamed them as well. They left my son to me.

They also brought in 'sandorsun', dragging him by his elbows for his hands were also tied behind his back. They dropped him roughly next to 'hoot' and he grunted as he landed on the stone.

"A'ight?" 'hoot' asked, voice calm and 'sandorsun' made a noise.

"Broken ribs. Think that's it."

"Better or worse 'n that time in the Congo?"

I didn't understand what that meant but apparently 'sandorsun' had to think about it.

"Going to go with worse" he mildly offered after a minute.

The Achians approached me than and I felt the terror leap up into my throat anew. Wondering if they were going to toss me down on the rocks and force me right there. Terrified they were going to take my son away now. I retreated into my courtly manners. So unused for so long now. Gave the soldier in front of me my best imperious stare. I had learned it from my mother in law who had often been able to bring grown men to their knees with it. I put ice and distain behind that look.

"Your hands, princess" he explained. Holding out the rope almost as if he would offer it. Angry I put my wrists together in front of me while my son clung to my neck and thrust my arms forward at him. Without the bloody rage of Ares to fuel them, they had nothing to excuse their behavior. I was often surprised by how differently men acted when they did not have the excuse of being coated with blood.

The Greek bound my wrists but he did not tie me so tightly that I lost feeling in my hands. And he tied my hands in front of me. I could still hold my son. Like my other two companions there was a long lead of rope that led from the ropes that bound me and a man I suspected of being their captain took that in his rough hands now.

"Neoptolemeus has been looking for you, Lady Andromache" he told me and I met his eyes and did not flinch. Flinching was for when you still had a hope of the nightmare passing you by. I was past that point now. For my heart was like ice in my chest and all I could think of was my son. Why had I been fool enough to bring him out into the dangerous night so far from the safety of our camp?

"Muma" as if hearing my thoughts my little boy buried his face against my throat and I held him close to me.

"Up" the captain ordered it and 'hoot' and 'sandorsun' were hauled ungently to their feet. I watched 'sandorsun' and saw the awkward way he moved. But he moved all the same. And than we were starting down one of the paths and I would have whispered a prayer of thanks to a god if I had not been so afraid of drawing one of their attention and reversing the good. For we were headed away from where the Trojan camp was hidden. In capturing me, perhaps it had stopped the scouting party from stumbling across my people. Again, I hoped none of the gods started paying attention and whispered in our enemies ears.


	16. Chapter 16

Hoot kept his eyes peeled and watched everything as they walked. Walking didn't take a lot of thinking and that left him plenty of headspace to use on more immediate things. Like how he was going to get Andy and Meander out of this. He figured all he had to do was cause a distraction. She'd run as soon as she had a chance. She had her kid. She'd think of that first and him and Sanderson second. Just the way it should be. Once the noncombatants were out of the way he and Sanderson could take care of themselves.

He glanced over at his friend now. Gaged how well Jeff was keeping up. His friend caught the scrutiny and made a face. The one he always made when he was shooting Hoot the bird. Hoot stifled a chuckle and looked around again. Not moving his head. Too obvious and it would only put his handlers on edge. Right now the guy behind him had the other end of his rope. Hoot figured a good jerk would bring the guy right to him. But that left a lot of others he wouldn't be able to put down that fast. There was a hostile in front of him and than Andy. Being led by the guy in charge. In front of him went two others and Hoot had seen a few disappear into the night around them. Presumably scouts. He'd have to do something so when Andy ran, she didn't run into them by accident.

Andy was a trooper. She looked less like a prisoner and more like insulted royalty. Which he only belatedly remembered she was. Her chin was up and her head was held high. With her shoulders thrown back and her back like an iron pole, she was easily as tall as some of their captors and the look on her face... Padme really didn't have much compared to the utter disdain and disgust on Andy's ivory face. Her son clung to her but he was silent and unmoving. Head resting on her slim shoulder, dark eyes watchful but not wide with terror. Picking up from his momma.

Since he knew he and Jeff hadn't been followed when they'd made their way back, Hoot figured this was one lucky scouting party. Soon to be one unlucky scouting party once he got his hands free and in close quarters. He'd fought guys with machetes in South America before. So he wasn't too worried about the swords in close combat. It was the arrows in long range combat he was worried about. But first things first.

The soldiers around him were good. He had to admit that. Well trained Marines which meant they were very good at things that were routine. Watching and escorting prisoners seemed to be routine. He kept his eyes open, only needing one opportunity and willing to bid his time until it came. Listening to Jeff behind him. Hearing the rasp in his inhales but, thank You, Jesus, no wheezing. Not yet. Hoot knew broken ribs hurt like a bitch but at least he didn't think the lungs had been punctured. He was worried about his friend but priorities said to worry about getting out of this alive first and taking care of the damage afterward.

Time passed and he got the impression they weren't stopping for the night. It was a long walk down the side of the mountain, especially without having the use of his hands so he could support himself and for a while he simply concentrated on not falling and splitting his head open. Listening to Jeff's ragged breathing two men behind him.

When they finally reached the base of the mountain, he piped up:

"Hey, man. We need a rest. My friend's hurt and you're makin' the lady walk in bare feet."

The captain shot him a glare. Hoot got it. The man wanted to be out of the Trojan infested mountains and safely in his own territory with his prizes as soon as possible. But he did stop. Let Andy sit down. Sanderson did the same on a nearby log. Hoot stayed standing. Too many of the soldiers stayed standing and at attention as well. He mentally kept track of where the swordmen were as opposed to the archers. Thought it was a good chance they'd chase Andy over shooting at her if she ran. But she'd need enough of a head start first.

"I gotta pee" Hoot told the man holding his rope. The hostile looked at him like he was out of his mind. Hoot shrugged. "Not like ya'll asked before we started this trip" he pointed out. The soldier holding his 'leash' seemed to waffle about it and than the captain shot him a glare and he returned the favor by glaring at Hoot. Hoot shrugged. Worth a shot. He was noticing a difference in the armour going on. Most of the soldiers were in those tin pie plates he'd seen when he'd first run across Sanderson. But some of them were in black. The ones in black were more hardened looking. Looked more like mercenaries than regular army types. Two of the boys in black were arguing with the captain in his pie plate armour now but their voices were too low for Hoot to hear. Whatever the argument was about the boys in black weren't happy with the captain's decision but than they were all up and moving again.

And the captain kept them moving for the rest of the night.

I grew numb with the walking. My feet, only barely healed, complained of it to me but there was little I could do. I would not complain outloud or show weakness. And I would rather go cripple than let one of these beasts bind my feet for me. I thought about running but I would need the man in front of me to let go of the rope first and he did not seem likely to do that. And inside me my heart trembled like a small wild animal caught in a snare.

Neoptolemeus. The butcher's son...

The night wore on and my heart squeezed tighter and tighter in my chest as I began to recognize landmarks and places. The captain called a halt as we reached the Simois road. I sat down without asking. Face set in stone. My son, who had dozed in my arms, woke and looked around us. My arms ached with carrying him so long. He was no little babe anymore. But I would die before I would set him down or give him to one of the Achaean's to touch. Worried, I looked behind me and saw 'sandorsun'. His face was grey and his breathing was raw. He was kneeling. But he met my eyes when he caught my glance and he gave me a smile. 'Hoot' strolled over to me and the soldier holding his rope seemed too unsure to stop him. 'Hoot' squatted down next to me and his dark eyes found mine. I saw that they had shifted. They were not the warm, irreverent depths I was used to but now they reminded me of wolves, cunning and dangerous. I felt no fear in me at them. There was a question in them and I nodded. Out of the relative closeness of the forest we were now surrounded by flat plains and wide open spaces. Dawn would be upon us soon.

In the distance, even here, you could see the rising ruins off once mighty Troy. My husband's beloved city. My own home for so many years.

My son's birthright.

Where our enemy waited for us.

"Let me carry Meander for a bit" 'hoot' stated and I looked at him as if he was mad. He gave me a tired smile.

"Too late for running now, Andy. You need your strength. And I could use a little hand with my driving."

I didn't understand his last sentence at all. Nothing but - 'little hand'... My brows came down and I met his eyes. Saw what was in them. I kissed my son and rose to my feet. 'Hoot' turned slightly. The captain watched me but he did not stop me either. I knew why. I was a queen, widow of Troy's greatest hero. He was a mere soldier. Neoptolemeus might decide to treat me very well and than I would be able to revenge any mistreatment. Or Neoptolemeus might treat me very poorly. But it was not safe for him to try to push himself on me until his lord had done one or the other. The Myrmidon in their ant black armour knew better and the looks in their beetle black eyes told me more than I cared to about what kind of man it was they followed now. But they too would not touch me until their lord had come. Gentle I settled my son against 'hoot's' back so that he rested in 'hoot's' cupped hands, his tiny arms around the man's neck. I kissed my son and my hair fell across 'hoot's' shoulder as well.

"Be good. Be brave" I whispered to my child. "Do whatever 'hoot' tells you to. I love you."

"I'll give him back" 'hoot' promised and there was much more in his promise than simply handing my son back to me at the end of the journey. It almost made tears come to my eyes and I blinked against my tight throat and straightened up. 'Hoot' greeted my son. And than our captors were moving us forward again.

Ahead of me, Troy rose against the false dawn.

It had been almost two long years since I had seen Troy last in anything other than my dreams. As it rose before us I saw it again as I had the first time, coming so young from my home to be married to a strange man I had never met. Only heard of by reputation. Hector, Tamer of Horses. Crown Prince of Troy. I remembered how I had seen it last, bright with hungry fire and slaughter, smoke rising like an evil god into the sky from its once white, sheltering walls.

I expected our captors to take us to the Greek camp. I was not the only one empty, broken Troy held ghosts for and the Achaean's had settled their camp outside its ruined walls. And than - and than my heart was ice and thorns in my chest and I could not think beyond that point in my future. But the soldiers did not bring us to their camp. Instead I watched as more of the ant soldiers filtered out of the ruins. They replaced the soldiers left behind by their various lords until the captain that held my lead was the only one left that was not directly bound to the butcher's son. The looks these new beasts gave me were hungry and brutal. Like circling wild dogs with no master. But they did not touch me and I pretended they did not matter to me. In a way, they did not. For they did have a master. And he was the one that would deal with me.

We circled Troy and than entered through the torn down Scaean Gate. The memories flooded over me and I suddenly wished desperately for my son. But he rode protected still against 'hoot's' back and I walked those memories alone. I kept my chin high and let my face betray none of it. Knowing already that men such as the kind that surrounded me only reveled in their victim's weakness.

They led us to the Scaean Tower and I was surprised that it still stood when so much else had been pulled down and destroyed. A Myrmidon stood at the foot of the steps and blocked the captain's progress. Reaching for my tether while dismissing the man. Who refused to be dismissed. He wanted all the glory for my capture. And than 'hoot' was next to me. Moving as if he had a right to and so his guard momentarily let him.

"Your turn" he turned his back to me and my son smiled at me. It broke my heart. I reached out and caught my little Astyanax to me and held him close. Inhaling the wonderful, comforting scent of him. 'Hoot's' eyes met mine when I finally raised them and his were dark and solemn. And - I felt fear move deep in me at what I saw in those dark eyes of his. Not a fear of him. But rather of what horrible knowledge it was I saw hidden unspoken in his eyes.

"I'm not gonna let anythin' happen to your son, Andy" his voice was quiet and steady. As were his eyes. Utterly assured. "That's a promise." And than my tether was jerked roughly forward. The captain had kept his grip on it but he was not happy. I stumbled but held my son close and steadied. Glancing wildly over my shoulder for one last look at the strange, dark man that had come to me from nowhere and made promises he could not possibly keep as if he could actually keep them. And than I was forced to focus on the steps in front of me. Steps I had climbed a thousand times before. Steps I had never thought to climb again.

And so we went up. My son in my arms. Up to the walls of once mighty Troy.


	17. Chapter 17

Hoot could feel Sanderson behind him. They were both in that state of heightened awareness that always came during combat situations. He could feel Jeff's eyes. Watching right in between his shoulder blades. They'd worked as a team so often that they didn't really need words anymore. Hoot's eyes were for the woman in front of him. And the little boy she carried in her arms.

He'd meant what he'd told her. There was no way he was letting anyone hurt that little kid. Even thinking of it, while Meander's little arms had been resting so trustingly around his neck, had started the rage inside him boiling. But he knew how to use that. And nobody was hurting that little kid.

He'd earned one chance. One shot in the dark. Meander had clever little fingers and had loosened up the rope around his wrists. But he had to use it wisely. Because he was only going to get one shot. And he'd learned how to make those things count.

He flexed his long fingers.

The captain was being dressed down. Hoot got his first look at the man that the very mention of the name of put such terror deep in Andy's usually amber eyes.

He was only average height. With shaggy reddish blond hair. He paced when he spoke. And he was young. A good ten years younger than Hoot easily. But it was his face that Hoot registered. Because he'd seen so many faces like that before.

In Africa there was a practice. Hoot wasn't even sure which country or fracture of a country it had started in. But militia would go into the villages and they would take the children. Little children. Just old enough to walk. They'd take those children back into the darkness of the jungles and mountains. And what came back out after a few years... what came back went hunting for more little children. To repeat what had been done to it all over again.

Hoot had seen those faces. He'd seen them alive and trying to kill him. And he'd killed them himself.

He was watching one of those faces now.

"I don't care if you brought me back the bones of Hector himself. Why did you leave the area? Their camp can't be that far away if you found her wandering around in the dark. I want to know where they're hiding. Do you understand that? My father couldn't finish Troy. But I will. Go back out and don't return to me until you know where they are!" He snapped his fingers and one of the older men in black armour stood straighter in response. "You. Go with him."

There was actual fear in the captain's eyes as he brushed quickly past Hoot and back down the stairs.

Neoptolemus watched the man dart away and there was a satisfied smirk on his face. A pleased bully. And than, as he turned to look at Andromache, his eyes met Hoot's. Hoot returned the look, eyes blank and black and steady. Calm. The younger man walked forward, eyes never leaving Hoot's but his hand reached up and brushed Andromache's cheek as he went past. She stood like alabaster and ignored the touch. Neoptolemus' eyes narrowed as he looked at Hoot.

"You're the one. One of the men that fought with my father said a man with Hector of Troy's eyes was with us. I thought he was lying. But you are, aren't you?"

Hoot didn't answer. He needed the man closer. And when he was in this particular mindset, he wasn't very talkative anyway.

Neoptolemus, stopping next to Andromache, looked at Hoot for a long time. One of his hands reached out and toyed absently with a strand of her long hair. She ignored that too. Standing as still as stone. Hoot met the other man's eyes and didn't look away. But there was nothing in his dark eyes that answered what was in Neoptolemus'. They weren't even on the same playing field.

And they both knew it.

"Why do I feel as if I should ask you what happened to Eurypylus and Eudorous last night?" Neoptolemus asked quietly. And than he shook his head. Turned his attention on Andromache and his demeanor changed. Hoot's didn't. But what was inside him did.

He circled me. Slow. And I stood under his attention and looked straight ahead. My son in my arms was very still. As still as I was. But his dark eyes followed the son of the man that had killed his father. Not realizing it but knowing something dangerous all the same.

"They said you were tall." My captor stated it as if it was distasteful to him as he came to a stop in front of me. The lead rope hung untouched and slack on the stone in front of my feet. But I knew better than to try to run. I met his eyes. So cold and snakelike. Like his father's must have been when he drove the spear into my husband. Standing as we were my eyes were the same height as his. And than he smiled. And it was such a hard, mad, pleased smile that my stomach went cold.

"No matter" he told me. Holding my eyes with his as he caught my chin with his fingers and tipped my head to look at my closed mouth. "All women are the same height when they're on their knees in front of you."

I would not beg. I would not show him fear. He wanted both.

And I knew already they would do no good even if I did give them to him. Like his father, he enjoyed the lament. His fingers tightened painfully. I felt their strength in the bone of my jaw and chin. But I pressed my lips together and offered nothing. Not defiance. Not resistance. I was holding my son.

The pressure increased until I had to shut my eyes against it. And than he let go. Watched me with horrible childlike curiousity afterward. But I did not raise my hand to rub at the pain.

"I'm going to enjoy you" his voice was thick when he said it. I shut my eyes again but stood still. "I'm going to take you back to my grandfather's land. I'm going to dress you like a common temple whore and parade you in front of my guests. I'm going to show them exactly how I tamed the bride of Hector Horse-breaker." I did not have to see his smile to know it was there. He was a boy. So young. And already so cruel. Like the children that tore the wings off of helpless little birds.

"Get on your knees" he hissed it at me. And almost - almost I opened my eyes. I barely stopped myself. The silence around me was so heavy I could feel it. Waiting. Listening.

Slow - I went to my knees.

I was holding my son.

"I knew he was nothing special. Hector of Troy" his voice was above me now and it was easier - preferable - to keep my eyes closed. "My father was a fool to let him live as long as he did. I would have hunted him down the first day. I would have humiliated him before I killed him. He would have begged me for mercy."

"I wish my husband had lived to see you." It came out of me before I could help myself and I opened my eyes as I raised my face to look at him. Hating him. Hating him and hating his father and hating whatever gods they were that smiled so upon his cursed family. "One look of his would have sent you screaming away with wet thighs. The way your father always fled him. He wouldn't even face my husband, hiding behind the excuse of a woman's skirt, until his boy's death forced him out."

He grabbed my hair and forced my head back as he leaned low over me. His ugly little pig face less than a breath from mine. How much he looked like his father in his anger.

"Bitch" he hissed it at me. Face almost as red as his hair. "It was your husband that died that day."

"And you will never know the glory that will forever follow my husband's name. Pyrrhus. Late-comer."

"I'll piss in his ashes." I saw the change in his eyes and tried to shrink away from it. "I'll piss in his wife. And I'll piss on his son!"

I cried out than. Not at the words for what were words? But at what I saw in his eyes seconds before he tried to seize my son from me. The terror was suddenly stronger than the hate. His hard hands caught at my son's shoulders and I snapped forward. Closing my teeth over his wrist. He cried out as I ground them down as hard as I could and for a second my son and I were both free. I opened my mouth. Tried to roll and struggle to my feet at the same time. His blow caught the side of my head and sent me sprawling. I heard one of the strangers shout. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was my son. And I in my foolish pride had now cost him his life by not doing something as simple as keeping my mouth closed. I scrambled, which wasn't easy with my hands tied. Not daring let my son go while so many black armoured men were present. The kick caught me in the side and all the air went out of me. My sight, still blurred from the blow, went black. It did not matter. I knew this roof top. I knew this wall. I could move without sight. The next blow was almost automatic and I turned my shoulders into it. Shielding my son. It sent my body sliding and I think I might have cried out. Hands tore at me. Too many. Hard, cruel hands. Dragging at my arms and my body that I tried to curl around my son. I fought, snapping with my already bloody teeth, not daring lash out with my legs for fear of unwinding from the treasure I held in the curve of my body. I felt my hair being pulled and grit my teeth. Hera, Hades, Hecate - I will sell my soul to you forever! Only save my son!

But no one answered. The gods did not care for a soul like mine. And my son was snatched free from me. I cried out for him and struggled to my knees.

To see him, held by his leg, in the butcher's son's grasp.

"Please" I begged it. "Please. I will do anything, everything you ask." I bargained desperately. Knowing that look in our captor's eyes. "For as long as we both live. Please. Anything you want."

"Your husband's ashes." Neoptolemus' voice was like Charon's chill dismissal of the wandering souls that had no coin to pay him.


	18. Chapter 18

Hoot wasn't exactly in pristine condition. Sanderson was even worse. You didn't watch what was happening in front of them and just sit calmly on the sidelines. Jeff was on his knees. Breathing rattling dangerously now. Blood trickled down from his temple where the skin against his skull had been split. His lips were as grey as ash. But what was in his blue eyes had two Myrmidons concentrating on holding him down. Hoot was on his stomach and someone heavy was sitting on him. He couldn't see out of one rapidly swelling eye and his shoulder felt funny. He'd had to disjoint one of his thumbs to slip out of the ropes holding his wrists and hadn't had time to pop it back into place. He figured he had a couple of loose teeth too.

Not that their opponents were untouched.

But there was no satisfaction. He wasn't even paying them any attention anymore. All he could see was Andy, battered and bleeding, on her knees, slim arms stretched out for her son. And little Meander, looking at the world upside down, dark eyes huge and terrified and fixed on his mother's torn face. And Andy hesitated.

What the hell was a dead body anyway? What the hell was somebody's ashes against her little boy?

"He'll lose his place in heaven." Sanderson's voice. A rasping grunt. "Whatever they do to the body will effect his soul in the afterlife. Its her son's life or her husband's eternity."

"That's bull shit!" Hoot snapped it. "Dead is dead. Can't nobody touch your soul!"

Andy had no reason to believe him. They'd never even talked about the afterlife or religions or heaven or hell. Hoot shifted under the heavyweight on top of him and the guy moved accordingly to balance his weight better. Andy pushed her hands against her battered face. But her eyes never left her son.

"You might wanna start prayin'" Hoot's voice was low. Sanderson's was even lower as he responded:

"oh. shit. Hoot..."

"There's mound. On the north side of Ida. Above the treeline. Where the goat herder's old shack is. I planted crocus on it last spring. My husband's ashes are in the gold box covered by great stone slabs, buried under his armour in that mound." Her voice was lost and helpless and breaking. Eyes bottomless holes in her face, she held out her slender arms for her son. "Please..." she begged, tears coursing down her face.

"Sire!"

It was a shout from the bottom of the stairs and for a moment everything froze. The black armoured guard at the bottom of the stairs rushed up them.

"There is a woman below. She claims to be the Princess Andromache."

Hoot shifted under Fatty and Fatty responded by shifting again. But Hoot had a bit of leverage now and he shifted his long fingers.

Still breathing heavily, Neoptolemus paused. Astyanax swung from his hand above the edge of the wall. Andromache didn't move. Neoptolemus looked at her and without looking away he nodded.

"Bring her up."

It seemed the sound of steps took forever to reach the top of the tower.

I did not look away from my son. Not for one moment. Holding him with my eyes as I could not with my arms. Steps stopped behind me. And I heard Padme say:

"I am ashamed to be mistaken for my handmaid."

I felt the shock at her voice. I felt the disbelief at her presence. And I felt the horror and fear for her at what she was trying to do. But I felt it all muted and far away.

For Pyrrhus held my son.

She moved to stand next to me. Dressed in elegance. Glinting with golden jewelry. Looking haughty and disdainful. A thousand times more the princess and queen to my own poor looks.

"Let my maid's son live. He's the son of a goat herder. His blood would shame you to be on your hands."

Neoptolemus looked at my servant for a very long time. And she looked back. Everything haughty and noble and regal and disdainful. Everything a man like him would want to see broken under him. And than his cold eyes slid to mine. He smiled.

And he thew my son high and out over his father's broken city.

I was screaming. Lurching forward. Knowing already that it was too late. Wanting only to follow my son down so that he would not go into the next life alone and afraid. But even as I moved someone else moved faster. And somehow 'hoot' was past me. I saw his arms, hands free, close around my son. Tucking that tiny body against his greater chest. And than they both disappeared over the edge.

My world - the whole world - went silent than for me. I heard nothing, not even the beat of my own heart as I reached the side. The stone lip bit into my stomach and the ground so far below swam before my eyes. Spun madly. I must have been screaming. My mouth was open and my throat was raw. But there was no sound. Hands grabbed at me. Dragged me back from what I saw on the rocks of my city so far below. I could not breath and tried to with great heaving gasps that did me no good. My chest ached as if its heart, so long forlorn, had finally been pulled out by the roots. I was aware of voices but they were dim and far away. Someone slapped me but all I saw when I looked at them was a watery blur and the far off sound of pointless anger. They shook me and it made my teeth hurt. But they were so far away. I was thrown down roughly. It scrapped the heels of my already scrapped hands. I looked down at the blood.

"Andy?" It was 'sandorsun's' voice. I looked over and found he was kneeling next to me. Two men held him that way. No one held me. There was no point. I was not going anywhere. 'Sandorsun's' blue eyes were very, very blue. I had never seen such a sharp color before. In what felt like the very far distance I thought I could hear Padme's voice screaming.

"Sandorsun" I said his name numbly. Thinking of what I had seen when I had looked down at the rocks so far below. My eyes found his. "What is the name of 'hoot's' god?"

One of his eyebrows went up and than he winced at the motion. Through colorless lips he answered me:

"He's God, Andy. He's the only one."

A guard pounded up the stairs. Looking pale under his helmet.

"Sire" the man was shaking. "There are no bodies at the foot of the tower. We looked everywhere."

'Sandorsun's' head came up and he looked at me, eyes huge. And if anything he went paler. Realizing what I had seen when I had looked at the empty rocks below. Why I had asked. All my life the gods had brought me nothing but sorrow...

"What do you mean?! That's impossible! Look again!" Neoptolmeus roared it and the guard sprinted to be out of his presence.

"Shit!" 'Sandorsun' pitched forward suddenly, eyes shut. His guards let go of him in fear as he curled into himself as if in pain. Greater pain.

"No" I cried it. Reached out and caught one of his wide shoulders in my bound hands automatically. And than he - flickered. And - for that moment my world as I touched him went - strange. Foreign. Full of smells and sounds and sights I did not recognize. And than I was back on the roof of the tower. Hands like claws in 'sandorsun's' shoulder. Both of us panting desperately. I looked over at Padme with huge eyes and hers were just as large. Neoptolmeus next to her looked just as terrified. And than Padme was the first of all of us to react. Her lips lifted and her eyes washed bright.

"Go!" she urged me. "He will take you to your son!"

"Padme!" I could not reach for her with my hands bound and hold 'sandorsun's' shoulder as well. But she was unbound. No one held her or stood between her and us. She could come too!

"Andy!" 'sandorsun's' voice. A noise as if his body was being torn in two. Padme's eyes found mine. And she smiled sadly.

But she did not come.

"Stop them!" Neoptolmeus screamed it. But he seemed very far away. "I won't lose my prize!"

My son. My friend. My people.

'hoot'...

I held Padme's eyes with mine and I hoped she saw the love in them. Than I slipped my bound arms around 'sandorsun's' neck. We seemed to fall forward together, he and I, as if the roof, the world, had suddenly fallen away.

And so it was that I forever left behind what had been for what would be...


End file.
